Glass, y-' o 2--=^ Q Q Rook J-\l !Ms <:J>^'-^ 'ii- M6 /^or Langdon Mitchell THE NEW YORK IDEA A COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS Walter H. Baker 6 Co.. Boston THF AMAZONS ^^^^^ ^ Three Acts. Seyen males, fire females. ^^ Costumes, modem ; scenery, not difficult. Plays a full evening. THE CABINET MINISTER ^,^,^^Z.T^,l^Z'ZT. scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. DANDY DICR '^9X<^'^ ^ Three Acts. Seven males, four females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, two interiors. Plays two hours and a half. THE (lAY LORD OUEX ^<*°^®<^y ^ ^^^ Acts. Four males, ten ^ females. Costumes, modem ; scenery, two interiors and an exterior. Plays a full evening. HIS ROUSF fN ORDFR C/omedy in Four Acts. Nine males, four •J 11VU*?I4 1 VIWI4 females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. THE HOBBY HORSE ^<*°^®^y ^ Three Acts. Ten males, five kULt uvilUi UViu:>ii fejjmieg^ Costumes, modem; scenery easy. Plays two hours and a halt IRIS ^'*°^^ ^ YiYQ Acts. Seven males, seven females. Costumes, modem ; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. LADY BOUNTIFUL ^^^ ^^ ^^^^ '^'^^^' ^^ht males, seven fe- I4 If VU 1 UI4 maiQg Costumes, modern ; scenery, four in- teriors, not easy. Plays a full evening. LFTTY ■^'^^'^''^ ^ Four Acts and an Epilogue. Ten males, five fe- ^ males. Costumes, modem ; scenery complicated. Plays a full evening. Sent prepaid on receipt of price by ^altet t$. 'Bafier & Company No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Massachusetts /73?' THE NEW YORK IDEA THE NEW YORK IDEA ^ ^ ^ A Comedy in Four Acts By LANGDON MITCHELL All rights reserved under the International Copyright Act^ Performance forbidden and right of representation reserved^ Application for the right of performing this play may be made to Alice Kauser, 1402 Broadway, New York, A'. Y. Published by arrangement with Harrison Grey Fiske BOSTON WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 1908 X The New York Idea Copyright, 1907, by Harrison Grey Fiske {Copyright assigned by Harrison Grey Fiske to Langdon Mitchell^ Jatniary, igo8) Copyright, 1908, by LANGDON MITCHELL All rights reserved PLEASE READ CAREFULLY The acting rights of this play are reserved by the author. Performance is strictly forbidden unless his express consent or that of his agent has first been obtained, and attention is called to the penalties provided by law for any infringement of his rights, as follows : — "Sec. 4966 : — Any person publicly performing or representing any •dramatic or musical composition for which copyright has been obtained, -without the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical composi- (tion, or his heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages therefor, such •damages in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dollars for every subsequent performance, as to the court shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and rep- resentation be wilful and for profit, such person or persons shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction be imprisoned for a period not ■exceeding one year."— U. S. Revised Statutes, Title bo. Chap. 3. The right to perform this play professionally may be obtained by addressing Alice Kauser, No. 1402 Broadway, New York, N. Y. Amateurs may produce it on payment of a royalty of twenty-five dollars for each performance payable in advance to the publishers, Walter H. Baker & Co., No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Mass. The New York Idea THE PEOPLE Philip Phillimore, a Judge on the bench^ cige ^O. Grace Phillimore, his sister, age 20. Mrs. Phillimore, his mother, age yo. Miss Heneage, his aunt, age 60. Matthew Phillimore, his brother — a bishop, age 4^, William Sudley, his cousin, age 50. Mrs. Vida Phillimore, his divorced wife, age j^. Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby. John Karslake, lawyer, politician and racing-many ag^ 35- Mrs. Cynthia Karslake, his divorced wife, age 25. Brooks, Mrs. Phillimore'' s footman. Tim Fiddler, Mr. Karslake' s trainer. NoGAM, his valet. Thomas, thefafnily servafit of the Phillimores, age 45. Benson, Mrs. Vida Phillimore' s maid, age 20. SYNOPSIS ACT I SCENE. — In the house of Miss Heneage. Afternoon tea of Wednesday. The set is a?i informal dratv- ing-room. ACT II SCENE.— 7%^ ho7ne of Mrs. Vida Phillimore. II A. M., of Thursday. A Boudoir. ACT III SCENE. — The house of Miss Heneage. After din- ner of Thursday. Same set as act first. ACT IV SCENE.— 7%^ home of John Kar slake. Midnight of Thursday. His study and lounging-room. VI Copy of the Program of the First Production LYRIC THEATRE WEEK BEGINNING MONDAY EVENING, NOVEMBER 19, 1906. Matinee Saturday. Under the Direction of Harrison Grey Fiske Mrs. Fiske AND The Manhattan Company Presenting a Play in Four Acts, Entitled THE NEW YORK IDEA By Langdon Mitchell The People of the Play Philip Phillimore - - - Charles Harbiiry Mrs. Phillimore, his mother - - Ida Vernon The Reverend Matthew Phillimore, his brother - - -. - Dudley Clinton Grace Phillimore, his sister - - Emily Stevens Miss Heneage, his aunt - - Blanche Weaver William Sudley, his cousin - William B. Mack Mrs. Vida PhiUimore, his divorced wife ----- Marion Lea Brooks, her footman - - - George Har court Benson, her maid - - - - Belle Bohn vii Sir Wilfrid Gates- Darby - - George Arliss John Karslake - . . . John Mason Mrs. Cynthia Karslake, his divorced wife - - - . Mrs. Fiske Nogani, his valet - - - Dudley Digges Tim Fiddler - - - - Robert V. Ferguson Thomas, the Phillimores' family serv- ant - - - - - Richard Clarke ACT I — Drawing-Room in the PhiUimore house, Washington Square. Wednesday after noon y at five o'clock. ACT II— Mrs. Vida Phillimore's Boudoir, Fifth Avenue. Thursday mornifig^ at eleven. ACT III— Same as Act I. Thursday evening, at ten. ACT IV — John Karslake's House, Madison Avenue. Thursday, at midnight. Scene — New York. Time — The Present The production staged by Mr. and Mrs. Fiske. vui PREFACE Mr. William Archer's Notice of " The New York Idea " * * * * This play, too, I was unable to see, but I have read it with extraordinary interest. It is a social satire so largely conceived and so vigorously ex- ecuted that it might take an honorable place in any dramatic literature. We have nothing quite like it on the latter-day English stage. In tone and treatment it re- minds one of Mr. Carton ; but it is far broader in concep- tion and richer in detail than " Lord and Lady Algy " or "Lady Huntworth's Experiment." In France it might perhaps be compared to "La Famille Benoiton " or " Le Monde ou Ton s'ennuie," or better, perhaps, to a more recent, but now almost forgotten satire of the 'nineties, " Paris Fin-de-Siecle." I find it very hard to classify "The New York Idea" under any of the established rubrics. It is rather too ex- travagant to rank as a comedy ; it is much too serious in its purport, too searching in its character-dehneation and too thoughtful in its wit, to be treated as a mere farce. Its title — not, perhaps, a very happy one — is explained in this saying of one of the characters : " Marry for, whim and leave the rest to the divorce court— that's the New York idea of marriage." And again : "The modern American marriage is like a wire fence — the woman's the wire — the posts are the husbands. One — two — three ! And if you cast your eye over the future, you can count them, post after post, up hill, down dale, all the way to Dakota." X PREFACE Like all the plays, from Sardou's " Divorcons " on- ward, which deal with a too facile system of divorce, this one shows a discontented woman, who has broken up her home for a caprice, suffering agonies of jealousy when her ex-husband proposes to make use of the freedom she has given him, and returning to him at last with the ad- mission that their divorce was at least " premature." In this central conception there is nothing particularly original. It is the wealth of humorous invention displayed in the details both of character and situation that renders the play remarkable. It is interesting to note, by the way, a return on Mr. Mitchell's part to that convenient assumption of the Restoration and eighteenth century comedy writers that any one in holy orders could solemnize a legal marriage at any time or place, without the slightest formality of banns, witnesses, registration or anything of the sort. One gathers that in New York the entrance to and the exit from the holy estate of matrimony are equally prompt and easy ; or that, as one of the characters puts it, " the church is a regular quick-marriage counter." I presume there is some exaggeration in this, and that a marriage cannot actually be celebrated at midnight, over a champagne-and-lobster supper, by a clergyman who happened to drop in. But there can be no doubt that whatever the social merits or demerits of the system facility of divorce and remarriage is an immense boon to the dramatist. It places within his reach an inexhaustible store of situations and comphcations which are barred to the Enghsh playwright, to whom divorce always means an ugly and painful scandal. The moralist may insist that this ought always to be the case ; and indeed that is the implicadon which Mr. Mitchell, as a moralist, con- veys to us. He sacrifices the system of divorce for every trivial flaw of temper which prevails in the society he depicts ; but he no doubt realizes that his doctrine as a satirist is hostile to his interest as a dramatist. Restrict the facili- PREFACE xi ties of divorce and you at once restrict the possibilities of matrimonial comedy. Marriage becomes no longer a comic, but a tragic institution. In order to keep his theme entirely on the comic plane, Mr. Mitchell has given no children to either of the two couples whom he puts through such a fantastic quadrille. Law or no law, the separation of its parents is always a tragedy to the child ; which is not to say, of course, that their remaining together may not in some cases be the more tragic of the two alternatives. Be this as it may» Mr. Mitchell has eluded the issue. Nor has he thereby falsified his problem, for his char- acters belong to that class of society in which, as Mr. Dooley points out, the multiphcation of automobiles is preferred to that of progeny. But he has not omitted to hint at the problem of the children, and, as it were, con- fess his dehberate avoidance of it. He does so in a touch of exquisite irony. John and Cynthia Karslake are a couple devoted, not to automobiles, but to horses. Even their common passion for racing cannot keep them together ; but their divorce is so " premature," and leaves John so restless and dissatisfied, that he actually neglects the cares of the stable. His favorite mare^ Cynthia K, falls ill, and when his trainer brings him the news he receives it with shocking callousness. Then the trainer meets Cynthia and complains to her of her ex- husband's indifference. "Ah, ma'am," he says, " when husband and wife splits, it's the horses that suffers." I know not where to look for a speech of profounder ironic implication. More superficial, but still a good specimen of Mr. Mitchell's wit, is William Sudley's remark as to John Karslake: " Oh, yes, he comes of a very respecta- ble family, though I remember his father served a term in the Senate." Altogether "The New York Idea" is, from the in- tellectual point of view, the most remarkable piece of work I have encountered in America. It is probably too true to the details of American life to have much success xii PREFACE in England ; but the situation at the end of the third act could not fail to bring down the house even here. It would take too long to describe it in detail. Suffice it to say that just at the point where Cynthia Karslake dis- misses her second bridegroom, to return to her first, the choir assembled for the marriage ceremony, mistaking a signal, bursts forth with irresistibly ludicrous effect into " The Voice That Breathed O'er Eden." The publishers take the occasion to express their thanks to Mr. Willia7n Archer for his kind permission to preface "The New York Idea '' with his notice of the play in *'The London Tribune " of May ^7, igoy. To Marion Lea The New York Idea THE FIRST ACT SCENE. — Livifig room in the house of Philip Philli- MORE. Five p. M. of a?i afternoon of May. The general air and appearance of the room is that of an old- fashionedy decorousy comfortable interior. There are no electric lights and no electric bells. Two bell ropes as in old fashioned houses. The room is in dark tones inclining to sombre and of old-fashioned elegance. \^At rise, discovered Miss Heneage, Mrs. Philli- MORE tf/?^ Thomas. Miss Heneage is a solidly builty narrow minded woman in her sixties. She makes no effort to look younger than she is, and is expensively but quietly dressed^ with heavy elegance. She commands her household and her family connection, and on the strength of a large and steady income feels that her opin- ion has its value. Mrs. Phillimore is a semi- professional invalid, refined and unintelligent. Her movements are weak and fatigued. Her voice is habitually plaintive and she is en- tirely a lady without a trace of being a zuoman of fashion. Thomas is an easy-mannered, but • entirely respectful family servant, un-English both in style and appearance. He has no de- 1 2 THE NEW YORK IDEA portment worthy of being so calledy and takes an evident interest in the affairs of the family he serves. Miss Heneage, seated at the tea-table y faces footlights. Mrs. Phillimore, seated left of table. Thomas stands near by. Tea things on table. Decanter of sherry in coaster. Bread and butter on plate. Vase with flowers. Silver match-box. Large old-fashioned tea urn. Guard for flame. ** Evening Post " on tea- table. Miss Heneage and Mrs. Phillimore both have cups of tea. Miss Heneage sits up very straighty and pours tea for Grace, who enters from door l. She is a pretty and fash- ionably dressed girl of twenty. She speaks su- per ciliously, coolly y and not too fast. She sits on the sofay l., and does not lounge. She wears a gown suitable for spring visiting, haty parasol, glovesy etc. Grace. [Crosses and sits.l I never in my life walked so far and found so few people at home. [Pauses. Takes off gloves. Somewhat querulously .'I The fact is the nine- teenth of May is ridiculously late to be in town. [Pause. Thomas comes down l. table. Miss Heneage. Thomas, Mr. Phillimore* s sherry ? Thomas. The sherry, ma'am. [Thomas nods and indicates table up L. Miss Heneage. Mr. Phillimore" s P^5/f THE NEW YORK IDEA 3 Thomas. \_Same business. Pointing to "Evening Post'' on tea- iabk.'] The Post, ma'am. Miss Heneage. \Indicates cup.'] Miss Phillimore. [Thomas takes cup of tea to Grace. Silence. They all sip tea. Thomas goes back, fills sherry glass, remaining round and about the tea-table. They all drink tea during the fol- lowing scene. Grace. The Dudleys were at home. They wished to know when my brother Phihp was to be married, and where and how ? Miss Heneage. If the Dudleys were persons of breeding, they'd not intrude their curiosity upon you. Grace. I like Lena Dudley. Mrs. Phillimore. \Speaks slowly and gently 7\ Do I know Miss Dudley ? Grace. She knows Phihp. She expects an announcement of the wedding. Mrs. Phillimore. I trust you told her that my son. my sister and myself are all of the opinion that those who have been divorced should remarry with modesty and without parade. Grace. I told 'the Dudleys Philip's wedding was here, to- morrow. [Thomas at back of table ready to be of use. 4 THE NEW YORK IDEA Miss Heneage. [7(7 Mrs. Phillimore, picking up a sheet of paper which has lain on the table.'] I have spent the afternoon, Mary, in arranging and hsting the wedding gifts, and in writing out the announcements of the wedding. I think I have attained a proper form of announcement. \_She takes the sheet of Jiote paper and gives it to Thomas.] Of course the announcement Phihp himself made was quite out of the question. [Grace smilesP] However, there is mine. {Poifits to paper. Thomas gii'es list to Mrs. Phillimore and moves up stage. Grace. I hope you'll send an announcement to the Dudleys. Mrs. Phillimore. \Iieads plaintively, ready to jnake the best of thifigs.'] "Mr. Philip Philhmore and Mrs. Cynthia Dean Kars- lake announce their marriage, May twenUeth, at three o'clock. Nineteen A, Washington Square, New York," [^Replaces paper on Thomas's salver.] It sounds very nice. [Thomas hands paper to Miss Heneage. Miss Heneage. [Thomas tip stage.] In my opinion it barely escapes sounding nasty. However, it is correct. The only re- maining question is — to whom the announcement should not be sent. [Exit Thomas.] I consider an announce- ment of the wedding of two divorced persons to be in the nature of an intimate communication. It not only an- nounces the wedding — it also announces the divorce. \_She returns to her teacup.] The person I shall ask coun- sel of is cousin WiUiam Sudley. He promised to drop in this afternoon. Grace. Oh ! We shall hear all about Cairo. THE NEW YORK IDEA 5 Mrs. Phillimore. William is judicious. \_Reenter Thomas. Miss Heneage. \_lVith Jijiaiity.'] Cousin William will disapprove of the match unless a winter in Cairo has altered his moral tone. Thomas. \_Annoimces.'] Mr. Sudley. {Enter William Sudley, a little oldish gentle- man. He is and appears thoroughly insig- nificant. But his opinion of the place he occu- pies in the world is enormous. His manners, voice, presence are all those of a jnan of breed- ing and self-ijnportance. Mrs. Phillimore and Miss Heneage. {Rise arid greet Sudley; a little tremulously. '\ My dear WiUiam ! {Exit Thomas. Sudley. {Shakes hands with Mrs. Phillimore, soberly glad to see them.'] How d'ye do, Mary ? {Same business with MiSS Heneage,] A very warm May you're having, Sarah. Grace. {Comes to him.] Dear Cousin William ! Miss Heneage. Wasn't it warm in Cairo when you left ? {She ivill have the strict irtith, or nothing ; still, on account ^ Sudley' s impeccable respectabil- ity, she treats him with more than usual leniency. 6 THE NEW YORK IDEA SUDLEY. [5z/5 L.] We left Cairo six weeks ago, Grace, so I've had no news since you wrote in February that Phihp was engaged. \^Pause.'\ I need not to say I consider Phihp's engagement excessively regrettable. He is a judge upon the Supreme Court bench with a divorced wife — and such a divorced wife ! Grace. Oh, but Philip has succeeded in keeping everything as quiet as possible. SUDLEY. \_AcidIy.'\ No, my dear ! He has not succeeded in keeping his former wife as quiet as possible. We had not been in Cairo a week when who should turn up but Vida Phillimore. She went everywhere and did every- thing no woman should ! Grace. \^Unf eigne lily ijiierested.'] Oh, what did she do ? SUDLEY. She "did" Cleopatra at the tableaux at Lord Erring- ton's! She "did" Cleopatra, and she did it robed only in some diaphanous material of a nature so transparent that — in fact she appeared to be draped in moonshine. [Miss Heneage indicates the presence of Gb.kC'E.. Rises; to c] That was only the beginning. As soon as she heard of Philip's engagement, she gave a dinner in honor of it ! Only divorcees were asked ! And she had a dummy — yes, my dear, a dummy — at the head of the table. He stood for Phihp — that is he sat for Philip ! {^Rises, and goes up to table. Miss Heneage. {^Irritated and disgusted. '\ Ah ! Mrs. Phillimore. I \Wiih dismay and pain. '\ Dear me! THE NEW YORK IDEA 7 Miss Heneage. \Confide7it of the value of her opinion.'] I disapprove of Mrs. Phillimore. SUDLEY. \_Takes cigarette.] Of course you do, but has Philip taken to Egyptian cigarettes in order to celebrate my winter at Cairo ? \_Co?nes below chair. Grace. Those are Cynthia's. SUDLEY. {Thinking that 7io one is worth knowing whom he does not know.] Who is " Cynthia" ? Grace. Mrs. Karslake She's staying here. Cousin Will- iam. She'll be down in a minute. SUDLEY. {Shocked.] You don't mean to tell me ? ! {To armchair, L. Miss Heneage. Yes, William, Cynthia is Mrs. Karslake — Mrs. Kars- lake has no New York house. I disliked the publicity of a hotel in the circumstances, and accordingly when she became engaged to Philip, I invited her here. SUDLEY. {Suspicious and distrustful.] And may I ask who Mrs. Karslake is ? Miss Heneage. {With confidence.] She was a Deane. 8 THE NEW YORK IDEA SUDLEY. \_Crosses up back of table R., sorry to be obliged to con- cede good birth to any but his own blood.'] Oh, oh — well the Deanes are extremely nice people. [Goes to table.] Was her father J. William Deaiie ? Miss Heneage. \_Still more secure ; nods.] Yes. SUDLEY. [Giving in with difficulty.] The family is an old one. J. William Deane's daughter? Surely he left a very- considerable Miss Heneage. Oh, fifteen or twenty millions. Sudley. [Determined not to be dazzled.] If I remember rightly she was brought up abroad. Miss Heneage, In France and England — and I fancy brought up with a very gay set in very gay places. In fact she is what is called a " sporty " woman. Sudley. [Akvays ready to think the worst.] We might put up with that. But you don't mean to tell me Phihp has the — the — the — assurance to marry a woman who has been divorced by Miss Heneage. Not at all. Cynthia Karslake divorced her husband. Sudley. [Gloomily , since he has less fault to find than he ex- pected.] She divorced him ! Ah ! [Sips his tea. THE NEW YORK IDEA 9 Miss Heneage. The suit went by default. And, my dear William, there are many palliating circumstances. Cynthia was married to Karslake only seven months. There are no — [fiances at Grace] no hostages to F^ortune ! Ahem ! SUDLEY. \_Still unwilling to be pleased.'] Ah ! What sort of a young woman is she ? [Goes to C. Grace. llFit/i the superiority of one who is not too popular.'] Men admire her. Miss Heneage. She's not conventional. Mrs. Phillimore. {Showing a faint sense of Justice.'] I am bound to say she has behaved discreetly ever since she arrived in this house. Miss Heneage. Yes, Mary — but I sometimes suspect that she exercises a degree of self-control SUDLEY. \_Glad to have something against some one.] She claps on the lid, eh? And you think that perhaps some day she'll boil over? Well, of course fifteen or twenty mil- hons — but who's Karslake ? Grace. {Very superciliously.] He owns Cynthia K. She's the famous mare. Miss Heneage. He's Henry Karslake' s son. 10 THE NEW YORK IDEA SUDLEY. {^Beginning to make the best of fifteen millions-in-law Jl Oh ! — Henry ! — Very respectable family. Although I re- member his father served a term in the senate. And so the wedding is to be to-morrow ? Mrs. Phillimore, {Assents^ To-morrow. SUDLEY. \Bored, and his respectability to the front when he thinks of the cerejnony ; rises. Grace m«.] To-morrow. Well, my dear Sarah, a respectable family with some means. We must accept her. But on the whole, I think it will be best for me not to see the young woman. My disap- probation would make itself apparent. Grace. \Whispering to Sudley.] Cynthia's coming. [//^t\u.a, determined to equal hi?n in coolness, returns to the tea-tray.] Mr. Phillimore, I came to get your signature in that matter of Cox vs. Keely. Philip. I shall be at your service, but pray be seated. \_IIe indicates chair up table. John. \Sitting beyond but not far f^vm the tea-table.] And I also understood you to say you wanted a saddle horse. [_Sits R. corner. Philip. You have a mare called — eh — " Cynthia K " ? 30 THE NEW YORK IDEA John. {^Promptly.l Yes — she's not for sale. Philip. Oh, but she's just the mare I had set my mind on. John. [^Witk a touch of htuiior.'\ You want her for yourself.'* Philip. \A little flustered.'] I — eh — I sometimes ride. John. \^He is sure of himself 7iow.'] She's rather lively for you Judge. Mrs. Karslake used to ride her. Philip. You don't care to sell her to me ? John. She's a dangerous mare, Judge, and she's as dehcate and changeable as a girl. I'd hate to leave her in your charge ! Cynthia. {^Eagerly but in a low voice.] Leave her in mine, Mr. Karslake ! John. [^After slight pause.] Mrs. Karslake knows all about a horse, but \Tur7iing to Cynthia.] Cynthia K's got rather tricky of late. Cynthia. \_Haughtily .] You mean to say you think she'd chuck me? THE NEW YORK IDEA 31 John. [ With polite solicitude and still humorous. To Philip. J I'd hate to have a mare of mine deprive you of a wife, Judge. {Rises. CY-tiTHiK business of anger.'] She goes to Saratoga next week, C. W. ViDA, [ IVho has been sitting and talking to Matthew for lack of a better man, comes c. to talk to Karslake.J C. W.? John. [Rising as she rises.'] Creditors willing. Vida. [Crossing and sitting left of tea-table.] I'm sure your creditors are wiUing. John. Oh, they're a breezy lot, my creditors. They're giving me a dinner this evening. Vida. [More than usually a^ixious to please.] I regret I'm not a breezy creditor, but I do think you owe it to me to let me see your Cynthia K ! Can't you lead her around ta my house ? John. At what hour, Mrs. Phillimore ? Vida. Say eleven ? And you, too, might have a leading m. my direction — 771 Fifth Avenue. [John bows. Cynthia hears and notes this. Cynthia. Your cup of tea, Mr. Karslake. 32 THE NEW YORK IDEA John. Thanks. [John gets tea and sips.'] I beg your pardon — you have forgotten, Mrs. Karslake — very naturally, it has sUpped from your memory, but I don't take sugar. [Cynthia, furious with him and herself. He hands cup back. She makes a second cup. Cynthia. \Cheerfully ; in a rage.] Sorry ! John. \_A/so apparetitly cheerful.] Yes, gout. It gives me a twmge even to sit in the shadow of a sugar maple ! First you riot, and then you diet ! ViDA. \Calni a?id amused; aside to Matthew.] My dear Matthew, he's a darling! But I feel as if we were all taking tea on the slope of a volcano ! [Matthew sits. Philip. It occurred to me, Mr. Karslake, you might be glad to find a purchaser for your portrait by Sargent? John. It's not my portrait. It's a portrait of Mrs. Kars- lake, and to tell you the truth — Sargent's a good fellow — I've made up my mind to keep it— to remember the artist by. [Cynthia is woioided by this. Philip. Hm! [Cynthia hands second cup to John. Cynthia. [ With careful politeness.] Your cup of tea, Mr. Kars- lake. THE NEW YORK IDEA 33 John. \_Rises ; takes tea with courteous indifference.'] Thanks — sorry to trouble you. [i% drinks the cup of tea standing by the tea-table. Philip. {To make cotiversation.'] You're selling your country place ? John. If I was long of hair — I'd sell that. Cynthia. {Excited. Taken out of herself by the news.] You're not really selling your stable ? John. {Finishes his tea, places empty cup on tea-table and re- seats himself 7\ Every gelding I've got — seven foals and a donkey ! I don't mean the owner. Cynthia. {Still interested and forgetting the discomfort of the sit- uation.] How did you ever manage to come such a cropper ? John. Streak of blue luck ! Cynthia. {Quickly.] I don't see how it's possible John. You would if you'd been there. You remember the head man ? {Sits:] Bloke ? Cynthia. Of course ! 34 THE NEW YORK IDEA John. Well, his wife divorced him for beating her over the head with a bottle of Fowler's Solution, and it seemed to prey on his mind. He sold me Cynthia. \Horrifiedr\ Sold a race ? John. About ten races, I guess. Cynthia. \_Incrednloiis.'\ Just because he'd beaten his wife? John. No. Because she divorced him. Cynthia. Well, I can't see why that should prey on his mind ! [Suddenly remembers. John. Well, I have known men that it stroked the wrong way. But he cost me eighty thousand. And then Ur- banity ran third in the thousand dollar stakes for two- year-olds at Belmont. Cynthia. [She throws this remark m.] I never had faith in that horse. John. And, of course, it never rains monkeys but it pours gorillas ! So when I was down at St. Louis on the fifth, I laid seven to three on Fraternity Cynthia. Crazy ! Crazy ! THE NEW YORK IDEA 35 John. [Ready to take the opposite viewJ] I don't see it. With her record she ought to have romped it an easy winner. Cynthia. \_Fure sport. ~\ She hasn't the stamina! Look at her barrel ! John. Well, anyhow, Geranium finished me! Cynthia. You didn't lay odds on Geranium ! ^ John. Why not ? She's my own mare Cynthia. Oh! John. Streak o' bad luck Cynthia. [Plainly atixious to say '' I told you 5^."] Streak of poor judgment I Do you remember the day you rode Billy at a six foot stone wall, and he stopped and you didn't, and there w^as a hornet's nest [Matthew rises~\ on the other side, and I remember you were hot just because I said you showed poor judgment? [She laughs at the memory. A general movement of disapproval. She re- members the situation.'] I beg your pardon. Matthew. [Rises to meet Vida. Hastily.'] It seems to me that horses are like the fourth gospel. Any conversation about them becomes animated almost beyond the limits of the urbane 1 [Vida disgusted by such plainness of speech, rises and goes to Philip who waves her to a chair Q. 36 THE NEW YORK IDEA Philip. \^For77ml.'\ I regret that you have endured such re- verses, Mr. Karslake. [John quietly bows. Cynthia. {Concealing her interest ; speaks casually. '\ You haven't mentioned your new English horse — Pantomime. What did he do at St. Louis ? John. [5//5.] Fell away and ran fifth. Cynthia. Too bad. Was he fully acchmated ? Ah, well John. We always differed — you remember — on the time needed Matthew. {Coming c. to Cynthia, speaking to carry off the situ- ation as well as to get a tip.'] Isn't there a — eh — a race to- morrow at Belmont Park ? John. Yes. I'm going down in my auto. Cynthia. {Evidently wishing she might be going too.'] Oh ! Matthew. And what animal shall you prefer? {Covering his personal interest with amiable altru' ism. John. I'm backing Carmencita. THE NEW YORK IDEA 37 Cynthia. {Gesture of despair. '\ Carmencita ! Carmencita ! [Matthew goes to Vida. John. You may remember we always differed on Carmencita. Cynthia. {Disgusted at John's dunderheadedness.'] But there's no room for difference. She's a wild, headstrong, dissatis- fied, foolish little filly. The deuce couldn't ride her — she'd shy at her own shadow — " Carmencita." Oh, very well then, I'll wager you — and I'll give you odds too — *' Decorum" will come in first, and I'll lay three to one he'll beat Carmencita by five lengths! How's that for fair ? John. {N'ez'er foygetting the situatio}i.~\ Sorry I'm not flush enough to take you. Cynthia. {Impetuously.'] Philip, dear, you lend John enough for the wager. Matthew. {As nearly horrified as so soft a soul can be.] Ahem ! Really John. It's a sporty idea, Mrs. Karslake, but perhaps in the circumstances Cynthia. {Her mind on her wager.] In what circumstances ? Philip. {With a nervous laugh.] It does seem to me there is a certain impropriety 38 TEE NEW YORK IDEA Cynthia. \_Remembering the conventions, which, for a moment, had actually escaped her.'\ Oh, I forgot. When horses are in the air Matthew. \Pouring oil on troubled waters. Crossing, he speaks toViDJ^ at back of armchair, where she sits.'\ It's the fourth gospel, you see. \_Enter Thomas with letter on salver, which he hands to Philip. Cynthia. \Meekly.'\ You are quite right, Phihp. \?Y{\\.\y goes up.'] The fact is, seeing Mr. Karslake again [laying on her indifference with a trowel'] he seems to me as much a stranger as if I were meeting him for the first time. Matthew. \_Aside to ViDA.] We are indeed taking tea on the slope of a volcano. ViDA. [Is about to go, but thinks she will have a last word with John.] I'm sorry your fortunes are so depressed, Mr. Karslake. Philip. {Looking at the card that Thomas has just brought in.] Who in the world is Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby ? [ General move. John. Oh — eh — Cates-Darby ? [Philip opens letter which Thomas has brought with card.] That's the English chap I bought Pantomime of. THE NEW YORK IDEA 39 Philip. [To Thomas.] Show Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby in. \_Exit Thomas. The prospect of aft Englishman with a handle to his name changes Vida's plans and instead of leaving the house, she goes to sofa, L. and sits there. John. He's a good fellow, Judge. Place near Epsom. Breeder. Over here to take a shy at our races, \_Enter Thomas. Thomas. {Announcing. '\ Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby. \E71ter Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby. He is a high-bred, sporting Ejtglishman. His inanner, his dress and his diciiofi are the pe?fection of English elegance. His movements are quick and graceful. He talks lightly and with ease. He is full of life and unsmiling good temper. Philip. \To Sir Wilfrid and referrifig to the letter of introduc- tion in his hand.'] I am Mr. PhiUimore. I am grateful to Stanhope for giving me the opportunity of knowing you, Sir Wilfrid. I fear you find it warm ? Sir Wilfrid. [Delicately mopping his forehead.] Ah, well — ah — arm, no — hot, yes ! Deuced yours, you know, Mr. PhiUimore. Philip. [Conventional.] Permit me to present you to [The unco7iventio7ial situation pulls him up short. It takes him a moment to decide how to meet it. He makes up his mind to pretend that everything is as usual, and presents CYNTHiA^^r^/.] Mrs. Karslake. [Sir Wilfrid hows, surprised and doubtful. 40 THE NEW YORK IDEA Cynthia. How do you do ? Philip, And to Mrs. Phillimore. [Vida bows nonchalantly, but with a view to catching Sir Wilfrid's attention. Sir Wilfrid bows, and looks from her to Philip.] My brother — and Mr. Karslake you know. Sir Wilfrid. How do, my boy. {^Half aside, to ]OYi^.~\ No idea you had such a charming little wife What? Eh? [Karslake goes up to speak to Matthew and Philip in the further room. Cynthia. You'll have a cup of tea, Sir Wilfrid ? Sir W^ilfrid. \At table -Si^l Thanks, awfully. {Very cheerfully. \ I'd no idea old John had a wife ! The rascal never told me ! Cynthia. \_Pouring tea and facing the facts. '\ I'm not Mr. Kars- lake 's wife ! Sir Wilfrid. Oh! Eh? I see {^Business of thinking it out. Vida. \_lVho has been ready for sojfte time to speak to him ?i^ Sir Wilfrid, I'm sure no one has asked you how you like our country ? Sir Wilfrid, \(joes to Vida and speaks, standing by her at sofa.'] Oh, well, as to climate and horses, I say nothing. But I like your American humor. I'm acquiring it for home pur- poses. THE NEW YORK IDEA 41 ViDA. \Getting down to love as the basis of conversation?^ Aren't you going to acquire an American girl for home purposes? Sir Wilfrid. The more narrowly I look the agreeable project in the face, the more I like it. Oughtn't to say that in the pres- ence of your husband. \_He casts a look at Philip, who has gone into the next room. ViDA. {Cheerful and unconstrained.'] He's not my hus- band ! Sir Wilfrid. {Completely confused.] Oh — eh? — my brain must be boiled. You are — Mrs.— eh — ah — of course, now. I see ! I got the wrong names ! I thought you were Mrs. PhiUimore, {He sits by her.] And that nice girl Mrs. Karslake ! You're deucedly lucky to be Mrs. Kars- lake. John's a prime sort. I say, have you and he got any kids? How many ? ViDA. {Horrified at being suspected of maternity, but speaking very sweetly.] He's not mf husband. Sir Wilfrid. {His good spirits all gone, but determined to clear things Mp.] Phew! Awfully hot in here! Who the deuce is John's wife ? Vida. He hasn't any. Sir Wilfrid. Who's Phillimore's wife? 42 THE NEW YORK IDEA ViDA. He hasn't any. Sir Wilfrid. Thanks, fearfully! \_To Matthew, 'who7n he approaches ; suspecting hi77iself of havifig lost his wits.'] Would you excuse me, my dear and Reverend Sir — you're a churchman and all that — would you mind straightening me out ? Matthew. \_Most gracious.'] Certainly, Sir Wilfrid. Is it a matter of doctrine ? Sir Wilfrid. Oh, damme — beg your pardon, — no, it's not words, it's women. Matthew. \_Ready to be outraged.] Women ! Sir Wilfrid. It's divorce. Now, the lady on the sofa Matthew. Was my brother's wife ; he divorced her — incompati- bility — Rhode Island. The lady at the tea-table was Mr. Karslake's wife ; she divorced him — desertion — Sioux Falls. One moment — she is about to marry my brother. Sir Wilfrid. [Cheerful agaijt.] I'm out! Thought I never would be! Thanks'! [Vida laughs. ViDA. [Not a whit discouniena^iced aiid ready to please.] Have you got me straightened out yet ? THE NEW YORK IDEA 43 Sir Wilfrid. Straight as a die ! I say, you had lots of fun, didn't you? [^Goes back to sofa; stajids.'] And so she s Mrs. John Karslake? ViDA. [^Caltn, but secretly disappointed?^ Do you hke her? Sir Wilfrid. My word ! ViDA. \Fidly expectifig personal fiattery. ] Eh ? Sir Wilfrid, She's a box o' ginger ! ViDA. You haven't seen many American women! Sir Wilfrid. Oh, haven't I? ViDA. If you'll pay me a visit to-morrow — at twelve, you shall meet a most charming young woman, who has seen you once, and who admires you — ah ! Sir Wilfrid. I'm there — what ! ViDA. Seven hundred and seventy -one Fifth Avenue. Sir Wilfrid. Seven seventy-one Fifth Avenue — at twelve. ViDA. At twelve. 44 THE NEW YORK IDEA Sir Wilfrid. Thanks! [/«<^zVrt/^5 Cynthia.] She's a thoroughbred — you can see that with one eye shut. Twelve. \_Shakes hands.l Awfully good of you to ask me. \_Joms John.] I say, my boy, your former's an absolute certainty. \_lo Cynthia.] 1 hear you're about to marry Mr. Phillimore, Mrs. Karslake? [Karslake crosses to Vida ; they both go to sofa, left, where they sit. Cynthia. To-morrow, 3 p. m.. Sir Wilfrid. Sir Wilfrid. {Much taken with Cynthia. To her. Sits R.] Afraid I've run into a sort of family party, eh? {Indicates ViDA.] The Past and the Future— awfully chic way you Americans have of asking your divorced husbands and wives to drop in, you know — celebrate a christenin', or the new bride, or Cynthia. Do you like your tea strong ? Sir Wilfrid. Middlin'. I Sugar ? One! Lemon ? Cynthia. Sir Wilfrid. Cynthia. Sir Wilfrid. Just torture a lemon over it. {He ynakes a gesture as of twisting a lemoji peel. She gives tea."] Thanks ! So you do it to-morrow at three? THE NEW YORK IDEA 45 Cynthia, At three, Sir Wilfrid. Sir Wilfrid. §orry ! Cynthia. Why are you sorry ? Sir Wilfrid. Hate to see a pretty woman married. Might marry her myself. Cynthia. Oh, but I'm sure you don't admire American women. Sir Wilfrid. Admire you, Mrs. Karslake Cynthia. Not enough to marry me, I hope. Sir Wilfrid. Marry you in a minute ! Say the word. Marry you now — here. Cynthia. You don't think you ought to know me a little be- fore Sir Wilfrid. Know you ? Do know you. [Cynthia covering her hair with her handkerchief. Cynthia. What color is my hair ? Sir Wilfrid. Pshaw ! 4t> THE NEW YORK IDEA Cynthia. You see ! You don't know whether I'm a chestnut or a strawberry roan ! In the States we think a few months of friendship is quite necessary. Sir Wilfrid. Few months of moonshine ! Never was a friend to a woman — thank God, in all my life. Cynthia. Oh— oh, oh ! Sir Wilfrid. Might as well talk about being a friend to a whiskey and soda. Cynthia. A woman has a soul, Sir Wilfrid. Sir Wilfrid. Well, good whiskey is spirits — dozens o' souls ! Cynthia. You are so gross ! Sir Wilfrid. \_Cha7iges seat to above table.'] Gross? Not a bit! Friendship between the sexes is all fudge ! I'm no friend to a rose in my garden. I don't call it friend- ship — eh — eh — a warm, starry night, moonbeams and ilex trees, " and a spirit who knows how" and all that — eh {^Getting closer to /ler.'] You make me feel awfully poetical, you know [Philip comes dowji, glances nervously at Cynthia and Sir Wilfrid, and "walks tip again.] What's the matter ? But, I say — poetry aside — do' you, eh \_^Looks around to place FuihiT.] Does he — y'know — is he — does he go to the head ? Cynthia. Sir Wilfrid, Mr. Philhmore is my sober second choice. THE NEW YORK IDEA 47 Sir Wilfrid. Did you ever kiss liim ? I'll bet he fined you for con- tempt of court. Look here, Mrs. Karslake, if you're marryin' a man you don't care about Cynthia. \_Amused and excusing his audacity as a foreigner s eccentricity^ Really ! Sir Wilfrid. Well, I don't offer myself Cynthia. Oh! Sir Wilfrid. Not this instant Cynthia. Ah! Sir Wilfrid. But let me drop in to-morrow at ten. Cynthia. What country and state of affairs do you think you have landed in ? Sir Wilfrid. New York, by Jove ! Been to school, too. New York is bounded on the North, South, East and West by the state of Divorce 1 Come, come, Mrs. Karslake, I like your country. You've no fear and no respect — no can't and lots of can. Here you all are, you see — your former husband, and your new husband's former wife — sounds hke OUendoff !' Eh ? So there you are, you see ! But, jokin' apart — why do you marry him ? Oh, ,well, marry him if you must! You can run around the corner and get a divorce afterwards 48 TEE NEW YORK IDEA Cynthia. I believe you think they throw one in with an ice- cream soda ! Sir Wilfrid. \_Rises.'] Damme, my dear lady, a marriage in your country is no more than a — eh — eh — what do you call 'em? A thank you, ma'am. That's what an American marriage is — a thank you, ma'am. Bump — bump — you're over it and on to the next. Cynthia. You're an odd fish ! What ? I believe I like you ! Sir Wilfrid. 'Course you do ! You'll see me when I call to-morrow — at ten ? We'll run down to Belmont Park, eh ? Cynthia. Don't be absurd ! ViDA. \_Has finished her talk with John, and breaks in on Sir Wilfrid, who has hung about Cynthia too iotig to suit her.'] To-morrow at twelve, Sir Wilfrid ! Sir Wilfrid. Twelve ! [ Crossing down L. ViDA. {Shakes hands with John.] Don't forget, Mr. Kars- lake — eleven o'clock to-morrow. John. {Bows assent.] I won't ! TEE NEW YORK IDEA 49 ViDA. \_Comes to the middle of the stage and speaks to Cynthia.] Oh, Mrs. Karslake, I've ordered Tiffany to send you something. It's a sugar bowl to sweeten the matrimonial lot ! I suppose nothing would induce you to call? Cynthia. {^Distant and careless of offending^l Thanks, no — that is, is "Cynthia K" really to be there at eleven ? I'd give a gold mine to see her again. ViDA. {Above chair.'] Do come ! Cynthia. If Mr. Karslake will accommodate me by his absence. ViDA. Dear Mr. Karslake, you'll have to change your hour. John. Sorry, I'm not able to, Cynthia. I can't come later for I'm to be married. John. It's not as bad as that with me, but I am to be sold up — Sheriff, you know. Can't come later than eleven. ViDA. \_To Cynthia.] Any hour but eleven, dear. Cynthia. {Perfectly regardless of Vida, and ready to vex John if possible.] Mrs. Phillimore, I shall call on you at eleven — to see Cynthia K. I thank you for the invita- tion. Good-afternoon. 50 THE NEW YORK IDEA ViDA. \_Astde to John, crossing to speak quietly to himi\ It's mere bravado ; she won't come. John. You don't know her. \Pause. General embarrassment. Sir Wilfrid business with eye-glass. JOHN angry. Cynthia triionphani. Matthew embarrassed. Vida irritated. VYiWAY puzzled. Everybody at odds. Sir Wilfrid. \For the first time a witness to the pretty compiicatio7is of divorce ; to Matthew.] Do you have it as warm as this ordinarily ? Matthew. \For whom these inoments are inore than tisually pain- ful, a^td wiping his brow.'] It's not so much the heat as the humidity. John. \_Looks at watch ; glad to be off.] I shall be late for my creditors' dinner. Sir Wilfrid. \_Comes down.] Creditors' dinner. John. \^Reads note.] Fifteen of my sporting creditors have arranged to give me a blow-out at Sherry's, and I'm ex- pected right away or sooner. And by the way, I was to bring my friends — if I had any. So now's the time to stand by me ! Mrs. Phillimore ? Vida. Of course ! THE NEW YORK IDEA 51 John, \_Ready to embarrass Cynthia, if possible, and speaking as if he had quite forgotten their foriner relations. '\ Mrs. Karslake— I beg your pardon. Judge ? [Philip de- clittes.'] No ? Sir Wilfrid ? Sir Wilfrid. I'm with you ! John. [7b Matthew.] Your Grace ? Matthew. I regret Sir Wilfrid. Is it the custom for creditors John. Come on, Sir Wilfrid ! [Thomas opens door.'\ Good- night, Judge — Your Grace Sir Wilfrid. Is it the custom John. Hang the custom ! Come on — I'll show you a gang of creditors worth having ! [Exit Sir Wilfrid with John, atm in arm, pre- ceded by Vida. Matthew crosses, smiling, as if pleased, in a Christian tvay, with this display of generous gaiety . Looks at his watch. Matthew. Good gracious ! I had no idea the hour was so late. I've been asked to a meeting with Maryland and Iowa, to talk over the divorce situation. [Exit. Voice heard off.'\ Good-afternoon ! Good-afternoon ! 52 THE NEW YORK IDEA [Cynthia evidently much excited. The outer door slams. Philip cotties down slowly. Cynthia stands, her eyes wide, her breathing visible, until Philip speaks, when she seems suddenly to realize her position. A long pause. Philip. \_Superior.~\ I have seldom witnessed a more amazing cataclysm of jocundity ! Of course, my dear, this has all been most disagreeable for you. Cynthia. [^Excitedly.'] Yes, yes, yes ! Philip. I saw how much it shocked your delicacy. Cynthia. [^Distressed a7id moved.'\ Outrageous. [Philip sits. Philip. Do be seated, Cynthia. {Takes up paper. Quietly ^^ Very odd sort of an Englishman — that Cates-Darby ! Cynthia. Sir Wilfrid? — Oh, yes ! [Philip settles down to paper. To her self. '\ Outrageous ! I've a great mind to go at eleven — ^just as I said I would ! Philip. Do sit down, Cynthia! Cynthia. What? What? TEE NEW YORK IDEA 53 Philip. You make me so nervous Cynthia. Sorry — sorry. [She sits, sees paper, takes it, looks at picture of John Karslake. Philip. {Sighs with content.'] Ah ! now that I see him, I don't wonder you couldn't stand him. There's a kind of — ah — spontaneous inebriety about him. He is incompre- hensible ! If I might with reverence cross question the Creator, I would say to him : " Sir, to what end or purpose did you create Mr. John Karslake?" I believe I should obtain no adequate answer ! How- ever [sighs,] at last we have peace — and the Post! [Philip settles himself, reads paper ; Cynthia looks at her paper, occasionally looks across at Philip.] Forget the dust of the arena — the prolixity of counsel — the in- voluntary fatuity of things in general. [Pause. He reads.] Compose yourself! [Miss Heneage, Mrs. Phillimore and Grace enter. Cynthia sighs without letting her sigh be heard. Tries to compose herself. Glances at paper and then hearing Miss Heneage, starts slightly. Miss Heneage and Mrs. Phillimore stop at table. Miss Heneage. [She carries a sheet of paper.] There, my dear Mary, is the announcement as I have now reworded it. I took William's suggestion. [Mrs. Phillimore fakes and casually reads it.] I also put the case to him, and he was of the opinion that the announcement should be sent only to those people who are really in society. [Sits above table. Cynthia braces herself to bear the Phillimore conversation. 54 THE NEW YORK IDEA Grace. I wish you'd make an exception of the Dudleys. [Cynthia rises and crosses to chair k. of l. table. Miss Heneage. And, of course, that excludes the Oppenheims — the Vance-Browns. Mrs. Phillimore. It's just as well to be exclusive. Grace. I do wish you'd make an exception of Lena Dudley. Miss Heneage. We might, of course, include those new Girardos, and possibly — possibly the Paddingtons. Grace. I do wish you would take in Lena Dudley. {They are now sitting. Mrs. Phillimore. The mother Dudley is as common as a charwoman, and not nearly as clean. Philip. \Sighs. His own feelings as usual to the fore.'] Ah ! I certainly am fatigued ! [Cynthia begins to slowly crush the newspaper she has been reading with both hands, as if the effor't of self repression were too much for her. Miss Heneage. \J\daking the best of a gloomy future.] We shall have to ■:ask the Dudleys sooner or later to dine, Mary — because -of the elder girl's marriage to that dissolute French Marquis. TEE NEW YORK IDEA 55 Mrs. Phillimore. [^Plaintively.'] I don't like common people any more than I like common cats, and of course in my time Miss Heneage. I think I shall include the Dudleys. Mrs. Phillimore. You think you'll include the Dudleys ? Miss Heneage. Yes, I think I will include the Dudleys ! \_Here Cynthia gives up. Driven desperate by their chatter, she has slowly rolled her news- paper into a ball, and at this point tosses it violently to the floor and bursts into hysterical laughter. Mrs. Phillimore. Why, my dear Cynthia Compose yourself. Philip. {Hastily^] What is the matter, Cynthia ? [ They speak together. General movement. Miss Heneage. Why, Mrs. Karslake, what is the matter? Grace. \Comes quickly forward, saying.] Mrs. Karslake ! curtain. THE SECOND ACT SCENE. — Mrs. Vida Phillimore's boudoir. The room is furnished to please an empty-headedy pleasure-loving and fashionable woman. The furniture ^ the orna- ments, what pictures there are, all witness to taste upfi- to-date. Two French windows open on to a balcony, from which the trees of Central Park can be seen. There is a table between them ; a mirror, a scent bottle, etc., upon it. On the right, up stage, is a door ; on the right, down stage, another door. A ladys writing table stands between the two, nearer centre of stage. There is another door up stage, l. ; below it, L., an open fireplace, filled with potted plants, and- irons, etc., not in use. Over it a tall mirror ; on the mantelpiece a French clock, candelabra, vases, etc. On a line with the fireplace, a lounge, gay with silk -pil- lows. A fiorist^s box, large and long, filled with American Beauty roses, on a low table near the head of the lounge. Small tables and light chairs where needed. \_At rise, Benson is discovered up stage looking about her. She is a neat and pretty little English ladfs maid in black silk and a thin apron. She comes down stage still looking about, goes l. and sees fiozver box ; then goes r., opens door and speaks off. 56 THE NEW YORK IDEA 57 Benson. Yes, ma'am, the flowers have come. [She holds the door, R., open. Vida, iti a morn- ing gown, enters R. , slowly, and comes C. She is sinoki7ig a cigarette in as cesthetic a manner as she can, and is evidently turned out in her best style for cotiquest. ViDA. [C, back to audience, always calm and, though civil, a little disdainful of her servants^ Terribly garish hght, Benson. Pull down the [Benson obeysi^ Lower still — that will do. \_As she speaks, she goes about the room, givifig the furniture a push here and there, arrang- ifig vases, etc.'] Men hate a clutter of chairs and tables. [Stops before table at c. and takes tip hand ?nirror, stand- ing with back to audience.] I really think I'm too pale for this light. Benson. [ Quickly, understanding what is iinplied. ] Yes , ma' am . [Benson exits r. Vida sits c, table r. Knock at door up L.] Come I [Enter Brooks. Brooks. [An ultra English footman, in plush atid calves.] Any borders, m'lady? Vida. [Incapable of remembering the last man, or of consider- ing the new one.] Oh, — of course ! You're the new Brooks. Footman, m'lady. Vida. [As a matter of form^ Your name ? 58 THE NEW YORK IDEA Brooks. Brooks, m'lady. {Reenter Benson with rouge. ViDA. \Carefully giving instructions while she keeps her eyes on the glass and is rouged by Benson.] Brooks, I am at home to Mr. Karslake at eleven, not to any one else till twelve, when I expect Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby. [Brooks is inattentive ; watches Benson. Brooks. Yes, m'lady. ViDA. \^Calm, but wearied by the ignorance of the lower classes J\ And I regret to inform you, Brooks, that in America there are no ladies, except salesladies ! Brooks. \_Without a trace of comprehension.'] Yes, m'lady. ViDA. I am at home to no one but the two names I have mentioned. [Brooks bows and exits up l. She dabs on rouge while Benson holds glass.] Is the men's club room in order ? Benson. Perfectly, ma'am. ViDA. Whiskey and soda ? Benson. Yes, ma'am, and the ticker's been mended. The British sporting papers arrived this morning. ViDA. [^Looking at her watch which lies on the dressing table.] My watch has stopped. THE NEW YORK IDEA 59 Benson. [Glancing at the French clock on the chimney-piece."] Five to eleven, ma'am. \_Co??tes down a little, R. ViDA. [Getting promptly to wor/e.'] Hm, hm, I shall be caught. [Rises and crosses R.] The box of roses, Benson ! [Ben- son brings the box of roses, u7icovers the flowers and places them atMn^A's side.] My gloves — the cHppers, and the vase ! [Each of these things Benson places in turn within Vida's range where she sits on the sofa. She has the long box of roses at her side on a small table, a vase of water on the floor by her side. She cuts the stems and places the roses in the vase. Wheti she feels that she has reached a picturesque position, in which any oiilooker would see in her a creature filled with the love of flowers and of her fellow ma7i, she says /] There ! [The door opens and Brooks enters ; Vida nods to Benson. Brooks. [Announcing stolidly.] Sir John Karslake. [Enter John, dressed in very nobby riding togs, crop, etc., and spurs. He comes i?i gaily and forcibly. Benson gives way, r. , as he comes down. Exeunt Brooks and Benson. John stops near table, l. Vida, fnmi this point on, • is busied with her roses. Vida. [Langourously , but with a faint suggestion of humor.] Is that really you. Sir John ? John. [Lively and far from being impressed by Vida.] I see now where we Americans are going to get our titles. Good-morning ! You look as fresh as paint. [Takes chair from l. to R. C. 60 THE NEW YORK IDEA ViDA. \_Facing the insinuation with gentle pain.'\ I hope you don't mean that? I never flattered myself for a moment you'd come. You're riding Cynthia K? John. [^IVho has laid his gloves and riding crop on table, c] Fiddler's going to lead her round here in ten minutes ! ViDA. Cigars and cigarettes ! Scotch ? \She indicates that he will find them on a small table up stage. John. Scotch ! \_Goes up quickly to table and helps himself to Scotch and seltzer. ViDA. And now do tell me all about her ! [Putting in her last roses ; she keeps one rosebud in her hand, of a size suitable for a ina7i s but- tonhole. John. \As he drinks.^ Oh, she's an adorable creature — deli- cate, high-bred, sweet-tempered ViDA. [^Showing her claws for a moinentT^ Sweet-tempered ? Oh, you're describing the horse ! By " her," I meant John. [Irritated by the remembrance of his wife.~\ Cynthia Karslake ? I'd rather talk about the last Tornado. [Sits, TEE NEW YORK IDEA 61 ViDA. \Soothing the savage beast. '\ There is only one thing I want to talk about, and that is, you ! Why were you unhappy ? John. {Still cross.^ Why does a dollar last such a short time ? * ViDA. ICun'ous.'] Why did you part ? John. Did you ever see a schooner towed by a tug ? Well, I parted from Cynthia for the same reason that the hawser parts from the tug — I couldn't stand the tug. ViDA. {Sympathizing.'] Ah ! {Pause. John. {Still cross .'l Awful cheerful morning chat. ViDA. {Excusing her curiosity and coming back to love as the 07ily subject for serious conversation.] I must hear the story, for I'm anxious to know why I've taken such a fancy to you ! John. {Very nonchalantly.'] Why do / like you ? ViDA. {Doing her best to charm.] I won't tell you — it would flatter you too much. John. {lYot a bit impressed by ViDA, but as ready to flirt as another.] Tell me ! 62 THE NEW YORK IDEA ViDA. There's a rose for you. [Giving him the one she has in her hand, John. \_Saying what is plainly expected of him.'] I want more than a rose ViDA. [Flitting this insinuation by.] You refuse to tell me ? John. [Once more reminded ^Cynthia, speaks with sudden feeling.] There's nothing to tell. We met, we loved, we married, we parted ; or at least we wrangled and jangled. [Sighs.] Ha! Why weren't we happy .'* Don't ask me, why ! It may have been partly my fault I ViDA. [ With tenderness.] Never ! John. [His mind on Cynthia.] But I believe it's all in the way a girl's brought up. Our girls are brought up to be ignorant of life — they're ignorant of life. Life is a joke, and marriage is a picnic and a man is a shawl-strap Ton my soul, Cynthia Deane— no, I can't tell you ! [Rises and goes up. During the following, he walks about in his irritation. ViDA. [Gently:] Please tell me ! John. Well, she was an heiress, an American heiress — and she'd been taught to think marriage meant burnt almonds and moonshine and a yacht and three auto- THE NEW YORK IDEA 63. mobiles, and she thought — I don't know what she thought, but I tell you, Mrs. Phillimore, marriage is three parts love and seven parts forgiveness of sins. \_Crosses c. ViDA. [Flattering him as a matter of course. '\ She never loved you. John. \0n whom she has made jio impression at all. '^ Yes, she did. For six or seven months there was not a shadow- between us. It was perfect, and then one day she went off like a pistol-shot ! I had a piece of law work and couldn't take her to see Flashlight race the Maryland mare. The case meant a big fee, big Kudos, and in sails Cynthia, Flashlight mad ! And will I put on my hat and take her ? No — and bang she goes off hke a stick o' dynamite — what did I marry her for? — and words — pretty high words, until she got mad, when she threw over a chair and said oh, well, — marriage was a failure* or it was with me, so I said she'd better try somebody else. She said she would, and marched out of the room. [Back to L. ViDA. [Gently sarcastic.'] But she came back! John. She came back, but not as you mean. She stood at the door and said, "Jack, I shall divorce you." Then she came over to my study -table, dropped her wedding ring on my law papers, and went out. The door shut, I laughed ; the front door slammed, I damned. [Pause ;. crosses to Tvindow.'] She never came back. [Goes up, then comes dovjn to chair R. ViDA catches his hands. 64 THE NEW YORK IDEA ViDA. \Hoping for a contradiction. '\ She's broken your heart. John. Oh, no ! {Crosses to chair by lowige. ViDA. \_Encouraged, begins to play the game again.'] You'll never love again ! John. \_Speaking to her from the foot of her sofa.] Try me ! Try me ! Ah, no, Mrs. Phillimore, I shall laugh, live, love and make money again ! And let me tell you one thing — I'm going to rap her one over the knuckles. She liad a stick of a Connecticut lawyer, and he — well, to cut a legal story short, since Mrs. Karslake's been in Europe, I have been quietly testing the validity of the decree of divorce. Perhaps you don't understand? ViDA. [Letting her innate shrewdness appea7\\ Oh, about a divorce, everything ! John. I shall hear by this evening whether the divorce will stand or not. ViDA. But it's to-day at three she marries— you won't let her commit bigamy ? John. \Shakes his head.] I don't suppose I'd go as far as that. It may be the divorce will hold, but anyway 1 iiope never to see her again. \_He sits beside her facing up stage as %he faces down. THE NEW YORK IDEA 65 ViDA. Ah, my poor boy, she has broken your heart. \_Believ- ing that this is her psychological moment, she lays her ha7id 071 his arm, but draws it back as sooti as he attempts to take it.~\ Now don't make love to me. John. \_Bold a7td a77iused, but 7iever taken in.'\ Why not ? ViDA. \\Vith i7n7ne7ise gentle7iess.'\ Because I hke you too much ! \_More gaily.'] I might give in, and take a no- tion to hke you still more ! John. Please do ! ViDA. \_lVith gush and determi7ied to be womanly at all hazards.] Jack, I believe you'd be a lovely lover! John. \_As before 7\ Try me ! ViDA. S^Not hopi7ig 7nuch from his toJte.] You charming, tempting, delightful fellow, I could love you without the least effort in the world, — but, no ! John. \Playi7ig the ga7ne.~\ Ah, well, now seriously! Be- tween two people who have suffered and made their own mistakes ViDA. \_Playing the ga77ie too, but fiat playi7ig it well.] But you see, you don't really love me ! 66 THE NEW YORK IDEA John. \_StiIl ready to say what is expected^] Cynthia — Vida, no man can sit beside you and look into your eyes with- out feehng Vida. \_Speaks the truth as she sees it, seeing that her methods don t succeed. '\ Oh! That's not love ! That's simply — well, my dear Jack, it's beginning at the wrong end. And the truth is you hate Cynthia Karslake with such a whole-hearted hate, that you haven't a moment to think of any other woman. John. \With sudden anger. '\ I hate her ! Vida. {Very softly and inost sweetly .'I Jack — Jack, I could be as foolish about you as — oh, as foohsh as anything, my dear ! And perhaps some day — perhaps some day you'll come to me and say, Vida, 'l am totally indifferent to Cynthia — and then John. And then ? Vida. \The ideal woman in 7nind.'] Then, perhaps, you and I may join hands and stroll together into the Garden of Eden. It takes two to find the Garden of Eden, you know — and once we're on the inside, we'll lock the gate. John. l^Gaily, and seeing straight through her veneer.'] And lose the key under a rose-bush ! Vida. [Agreeing very softly?^ Under a rose-bush ! [ Very soft knock R,] Come ! [John rises quickly. Enter Benson and Brooks, l. THE NEW YORK IDEA 67 Brooks. \StoHd and atinounci7ig.'\ My lady — Sir Wilf [Benson stops him with a sharp movement and turns toward Vida. Benson. [IVzth intention.'] Your dressmaker, ma'am. [Benson waves Brooks to go. Exit Brooks, l., very haughtily. Vida. \_Wonde?ingiy.'] My dressmaker, Benson? \_With quick intelligence.] Oh, of course, show her up. Mr. Kars- lake, you won't mind for a few minutes using my men's club room? Benson will show you ! You'll find cigars and the ticker, sporting papers, whiskey ; and, if you want anything special, just 'phone down to my "chef." John. \Looking at his watch.] How long ? Vida. {Very anxious to please.] Half a cigar! Benson will call you. John. {Practical.] Don't make it too long. You see, there's my sheriff's sale on at twelve, and those races this after- noon. Fiddler will be here in ten minutes, remember ! \_Door L. opens. Vida. \To John.] Run along ! {Exit John. Vida siiddmly practical, and with a broad gesture to Benson.] Every- thing just as it was, Benson ! [Benson whisks the roses out of the vase and replaces thejn in the box. She gives Vida scissors and empty vases, and when ViDA finds her- self in precisely the same position which preceded jon's's eji trance, she says :] There ! {Enter Brooks, as Vida takes a rose from basket. 68 THE NEW YORK IDEA Brooks. [Stolidly.'l Your ladyship's dressmaker ! M'lady ! [Enter Sir Wilfrid t?i morning suit, bouton- ?iiere, etc. ViDA. [ With tender surprise and busy with the roses."] Is that really you, Sir Wilfrid ! I never flattered myself for an instant that you'd remember to come. Sir Wilfrid. [Coming to her above end of sofa.] Come? 'Course I come ! Keen to come see you. By Jove, you know, you look as pink and white as a huntin' mornin'. ViDA. [Ready to make any man as happy as possible.] You'll smoke ? Sir Wilfrid. Thanks ! [He watches her as she trims and arrajiges the flozoers.] Awfully long fingers you have ! Wish I was a rose, or a ring, or a pair of shears ! I say, d' you ever notice what a devil of a fellow I am for originality, what? [Co7}tes down to L. Unlike John, is evidently im- pressed by her.] You've got a delicate little den up here ! Not so much low livin' and high thinkin', as low lights and no thinkin' at all, I hope — eh ? [To C. By this time Vida has filled a vase with roses and rises to sweep by him and if possible make a7iother charming picture to his eyes. Vida. You don't mind my moving about ? [Crosses R. Sir Wilfrid. [Ifnpressed.] Not if you don't mind my watchin'. [Sits R., on sofa.] And sayin' how well you do it. THE NEW YORK IDEA 69 ViDA. It's most original of you to come here this morning. I don't quite see why you did. [She places the roses here and there, as if to see their effect, and leaves them on a small table near the door through which her visitors entered. Sir Wilfrid. Admiration. ViDA. {Sauntering slowly toward the niirror as she speaks?^ Oh, I saw that you admired her! And of course, she did say she was coming here at eleven ! But that was only bravado! She won't come, and besides, I've given orders to admit no one ! Sir Wilfrid. May I ask you \He throws this in in the middle of her speech, which flows gently and steadily on. ViDA. And indeed, if she came now, Mr. Karslake has gone, and her sole object in coming was to make him uncom- fortable. \Jjoes up above table, L, ; stoppi?ig a half 7nin- ute at the mir7'or to see that she looks as she wishes to look.~\ Very dangerous symptom, too, that passionate desire to make one's former husband unhappy ! But, I can't believe that your admiration for Cynthia Karslake is so warm that it led you to pay me this visit a half hour too early in the hope of seeing Sir Wilfrid. [Rises ; most civil, but speaking his jnind like a Briton-I I say, would you mind stopping a moment ! [She smiles.^ I'm not an American, you know ; I was brought up not to interrupt. But you Americans, it's different with you! If somebody didn't interrupt you, you'd go on forever. 70 TEE NEW YORK IDEA ViDA. \She passes him to lantaiize.~\ My point is you come to see Cynthia Sir Wilfrid. \^He believes she means it.'\ I came hopin' to see ViDA. \_As before.'] Cynthia ! Sir Wilfrid. [^Perfectly single-minded and entirely taken in.'\ But I would have come even if I'd known ViDA. \Crosses c] I don't believe it ! Sir Wilfrid. {As before.] Give you my word I ViDA. {The same.] You're here to see her! And of course Sir Wilfrid. {Determined to be heard because, after all, he" s a man.] May I have the— eh— the floor? [Vida sits in chair, L.] I was jolly well bowled over with Mrs. Karslake, I admit that, and I hoped to see her here, but Vida. {Talking nonsense and knowing it.] You had another object in coming. In fact, you came to see Cynthia, and you came to see me ! What I really long to know, is why you wanted to see me I For, of course, Cynthia's to be married at three ! And, if she wasn't she wouldn't have you ! Sir Wilfrid. {Not intending to womid ; merely speaking the fiat truth.] Well, I mean to jolly well ask her. THE NEW YORK IDEA 11 ViDA. \_Jndtgna7tt.'] To be your wife ? Sir Wilfrid. [c] Why not ? ViDA. \_As before^ And you came here, to my house — in order to ask her Sir Wilfrid. {Truthful even on a subtle point.'] Oh, but that's only my first reason for coming, you know. ViDA. {Concealing her hopes.] Well, now I am curious — what is the second? Sir Wilfrid. {Simply.] Are you feelin' pretty robust ? ViDA. I don't know ! Sir Wilfrid. {Crosses R. to buffet.] Will you have something, and then I'll tell you ! Vida. {Gaily,] Can't I support the news without Sir Wilfrid. {Tryijig to explain his state of mind, a thing he has never been able to do.] Mrs. Phillimore, you see it's this way. Whenever you're lucky, you're too lucky. Now, Mrs. Karslake is a nipper and no mistake, but as I told you, the very same evenin' and house where I saw her {He attempts to take her hand. 72 THE NEW YORK IDEA ViDA. \GeniIy rising and affecting a tender surprise^ What ! Sir Wilfrid. \Rising with her.^ That's it ! — You're over ! \^He suggests with his right hattd the tnovement of a horse taking a hurdle. ViDA. \yery sweetly. '\ You don't really mean Sir Wilfrid. \_Carried away for the moment by so much true womanli- ness. '\ I mean, I stayed awake for an hour last night, thinkin' about you. ViDA. [Speaking to be contradicted.'] But, you've just told me — that Cynthia Sir Wilfrid. {Admitting the fact. ~\ Well, she did — she did bowl my wicket, but so did you ViDA. [Taking him very gently to task.] Don't you think there's a limit to [Sits. Sir Wilfrid. [Roused by so much loveliness of soul.] Now, see here, Mrs. Phillimore ! You and I' are not bottle babies, eh, are we? You've been married and — I — I've knocked about, and we both know there's a lot of stuff talked about — eh, eh, well, you know : — the one and only — that a fellow can't be awfully well smashed by two at the same time don't you know ! All rubbish ! You know it, and the proof of the puddin's in the eatin', I am ! Vida. [As before.] May I ask where I come in ? TEE NEW YORK IDEA 73 Sir Wilfrid. Well, now, Mrs. Phillimore, I'll be frank with you, Cynthia's my favorite, but you're runnin' her a close second in the popular esteem ! ViDA. [^Laughs, determined not to take offense.'] What a de- lightful, original, fantastic person you are ! Sir Wilfrid. {^Frankly happy that he has explained everything so neatly.'] 1 knew you'd take it that way ! ViDA. And what next, pray ? Sir Wilfrid. Oh, just the usual, — eh, — thing, — the — eh — the same old question don't you know. Will you have me if she don't? ViDA. \_A shade piqued, but determined not to risk showing z?.] And you call that the same old usual question ? Sir Wilfrid. Yes, I know, but — but will you ? I sail in a week ; we can take the same boat. And — eh — eh — my dear Mrs. — mayn't I say Vida, I'd like to see you at the head of my table. Vida. \With velvet irony.] With Cynthia at the foot? Sir Wilfrid. \_Practical, as before.] Never mind Mrs. Karslake, — I admire her — she's — but you have your own points! And you're here, and so'm I ! — damme I offer myself, and my 74 THE NEW YORK IDEA affections, and I'm no icicle, my dear, tell you that for a fact, and, and in fact what's your answer ! — [Vida sighs a7id shakes her head.'] Make it, yes ! I say, you know, my dear Vida \_//e catches her hands. Vida. \_She slips them from him.] Unhand me, dear villain ! And sit further away from your second choice ! What can 1 say? I'd rather have you for a lover than any man I know ! You must be a lovely lover! Sir Wilfrid. I am! \He makes a second effort to catch her fingers. Vida. Will you kindly go further away and be good 1 Sir Wilfrid. \_Quite forgetting Cynthia.] Look here, if you say yes, we'll be married Vida. In a month ! Sir Wilfrid. Oh, no — this evening ! Vida. \Incapable of leaving a situation unadorned 7] This even- ing ! And sail in the same boat with you ? And shall we sail to the Garden of Eden and stroll into it and lock the gate on the inside and then lose the key — under a rose-bush ? Sir Wilfrid. [^Pauses, and after consideration, says .•] Yes ; yes, I say — that's too clever for me ! \He draws nearer to her to bring the miderstand- ing to a crisis. TEE NEW YORK IDEA 75 ViDA. \Sqft knock up l.] My maid — come ! Sir Wilfrid. \_Swings out of his chair and goes to sofa.'] Eh ? \_Enter Benson up l. Benson. \_To ViDA.] The new footman, ma'am — he's made a mistake. He's told the lady you're at home. ViDA. What lady? Benson. Mrs. Karslake ; and she's on the stairs, ma'am. ViDA. Show her in. [Sir Wilfrid has been turning over the roses. On hearing this, he faces about with a long stetnmed o?ie in his hand. He uses it in the ' following scene to point his remarks. Sir Wilfrid. [Ti? Benson, who stops.] One moment! [Zt? Vida.] I say, eh — I'd rather not see her ! Vida. [ Very innocently 7\ But you came here to see her. Sir Wilfrid. \A little flustered.] I'd rather not. Eh, — I fancied I'd find you and her together — but her — \comes a step nearer] findin' me with you looks so dooced intimate, — no one else, d'ye see, I believe she'd — draw conclu- sions Benson. Pardon me, ma'am — but I hear Brooks coming ! 76 THE NEW YORK IDEA Sir Wilfrid. \To Benson.] Hold the door ! ViDA. So you don't want her to know ? Sir Wilfrid. \_To ViDA.] Be a good girl now — run me off some- where ! ViDA. [To Benson.] Show Sir Wilfrid the men's room. \_Ejiter Brooks, l. Sir Wilfrid. The men's room ! Ah ! Oh ! Eh ! ViDA. \_Beckons him to go at ojtce.'] Sir Wil \_He hesitates, then as Brooks comes on, he flings off with Benson. Brooks. Lady Karslake, milady ! ViDA. Anything more inopportune ! I never dreamed she'd come [Enter Cynthia, veiled. She comes down quickly. Langourously ^ My dear Cynthia, you don't mean to say Cynthia. [Rather short, and visibly agitated.^ Yes, I've come. Vida. [Polite, but not urgent.'] Do take off your veil. Cynthia. [Doing as Vida asks.] Is no one here ? THE NEW YORK IDEA 77 ViDA. [As before.'] Won't you sit down ? Cynthia. \_Agitaied and suspicious.] Thanks, no That is, yes, thanks. Yes! You haven't answered my ques- tion? [Cynthia waves her hand through the smoke, looks at the smoke suspiciously, looks for the cigarette. I ViDA. [Flaying innocence in the first degree.] My dear, what makes you imagine that any one's here ! Cynthia. You've been smoking. ViDA. Oh, puffing away ! [Cynthia sees the glasses up r. Cynthia. And drinking — a pair of drinks? [She sees John's gloves on the table at her elbow.] Do they fit you, dear? [ViDA smiles ; Qxws'AlK picks up crop and looks at it and reads her own name.] " Jack, from Cynthia." ViDA. [Assured, and without taking the trouble to double for a mere woman.] Yes, dear ; it's Mr. Karslake's crop, but I'm happy to say he left me a few minutes ago. Cynthia. He left the house? [Vida smiles.] I wanted to see him. Vida. [With a shade of insolence.] To quarrel? 78 TEE NEW YORK IDEA Cynthia. {^Frank and curt.'] I wanted to see him. ViDA. {^Determined to put Cynthia in the wrong 7] And 1 sent him away because I didn't want you to repeat the scene of last night in my house. Cynthia. {Looks at crop and is silent.] Well, I can't stay. I'm to be married at three, and I had to play truant to get here ! {Enter Benson, up l. Benson. {To Vida.] There's a person, ma'am, on the sidewalk. ViDA. What person, Benson ? Benson. A person, ma'am, with a horse. Cynthia. {Happily agitated.] It's Fiddler with Cynthia K ! {She goes up rapidly and looks out back through window, ViDA. {To Benson.] Tell the man I'll be down in five minutes. Cynthia. {Looking down from the balcony with delight.] Oh, there she is ! ViDA. {Aside to Benson.] Go to the club room, Benson, and say to the two gentlemen I can't see them at present — I'll send for them when THE NEW YORK IDEA 79 Benson. [^Lisiens l.] I hear some one coming. ViDA. Quick ! [Benson crosses l. Door l. opetis, and John enters. John comes in slowly, carelessly. ViDA whispers io Benson. Benson. [Crosses, goes close io John and whispers.'] Beg par ViDA. [Under her breath.'] Go back ! John. [Not understanding.] I beg pardon ! ViDA. [As before.] Go back ! John. [The same.] Can't! I've a date! With the sheriff ! ViDA. [A little cross.] Please use your eyes. John. [Laughing and /latterifigYiiyA.] I am using my eyes. ViDA. iFretted.] Don't you see there's a lovely creature in the room ? John. [Again taki?ig the loud 2cpperha7id.] Of course there is. ViDA. Hush! 80 THE NEW YORK IDEA John, [Teasingiy .'] But what I want to know is ViDA. Hush ! John. \_DeHghted at getting a rise.'] is when we're to stroll in the Garden of Eden ViDA. Hush ! John. and lose the key. [To put a stop to this, she lightly tosses her handkerchief into his face ^ By George, talk about attar of roses ! Cynthia. [ Up at window, excited and moved at seeing ner mare once more.~\ Oh, she's a darling! [She turns.] A perfect darling ! [John starts up ; sees Cynthia at the same instant that she sees him.] Oh! I didn't know you were here. [Pause; then with " take-it-or-leave-it'' frankness.] I came to sec you / [John looks extremely dark and angry; Vida rises. Vida. [To Cynthia, most gently, and seeijig there s nothing to be made ^ John.] Oh, pray feel at home, Cynthia, dear ! [Stands by door, r. ; to John.] When I've a nice street frock on, I'll ask you to present me to Cynthia K. [Exit Vida, r. John and Cynthia, tableau. Cynthia. [Agitated atid frank.] Of course, I told you yesterday I was coming here. THE NEW YORK IDEA 81 John, [r., irritated.~\ And I was to deny myself the privilege of being here ? Cynthia. [^Curt and agitated.'] Yes. John. \_Ready to fight.] And you guessed I would do that ? Cynthia. No. John. What? Cynthia. \_Above table. She speaks with agitation, frankness and good will.] Jack — I mean, Mr. Karslake, — no, I mean, Jack! I came because — well, you see, it's my wedding day! — and — and — I — I — was rude to you last evening. I'd like to apologize and make peace with you before I go John. {^Determined to be disagreeable.] Before you go to your last, long home ! Cynthia. I came to apologize. John. But you'll remain to quarrel I Cynthia. \Still frank and kitid.] I will not quarrel. No I — and I'm only here for a moment. I'm to be married at three, and just look at the clock ! Besides, I told Philip I was going to Louise's shop, and I did — on the way here ; but, you see, if I stay too long he'll telephone Louise and find 82 THE NEW YORK IDEA I'm not there, and he might guess I was here. So you see I'm risking a scandal. And now, Jack, see here, I lay my hand on the table, I'm here on the square, and, — what I want to say is, why — Jack, even if we have made a mess of our married hfe, let's put by anger and pride. It's all over now and can't be helped. So let's be human, let's be reasonable, and let's be kind to each other! Won't you give me your hand? [John refuses, R.] I wish you every happiness ! John. \_Turns away R., the past ranktmg.'\ I had a client once, a murderer ; he told me he murdered the man, and he told me, too, that he never felt so kindly to anybody as he did to that man after he'd killed him ! Cynthia. Jack ! John. {Unforgiving, '\ You murdered my happiness! Cynthia. I won't recriminate ! John. And now I must put by anger and pride ! I do ! But not self-respect, not a just indignation — not the facts and my clear memory of them ! Cynthia. Jack ! John. No! THE NEW YORK IDEA 83 Cynthia. [^Goes C, with growing emotion, and holds out her hand.l I give you one more chance! Yes, I'm deter- mined to be generous. I forgive everything you ever did to me. I'm ready to be friends. I wish you every happiness and every — every — horse in the world I I can't do more than that! \She offers it again.'] You refuse .^ John. [Moved but surly.] I hke wildcats and I like Chris- tians, but I don't like Christian wildcats ! Now I'm close hauled, trot out your tornado ! Let the Tiger loose ! It's the tamer, the man in the cage that has to look lively and use the red hot crowbar ! But by Jove, I'm out of the cage ! I'm a mere spectator of the married circus ! \_He puffs vigorously. Cynthia. Be a game sport then ! Our marriage was a wager ; you wagered you could live with me. You lost ; you paid with a divorce ; and now is the time to show your sporting blood. Come on, shake hands and part friends. John. Not in this world ! Friends with you, no ! I have a proper pride. I don't propose to put my pride in my pocket. Cynthia. [Jealous and plain spoken.] Oh, I wouldn't ask you to put your pride in your pocket while Vida's handker- chief is there. [John looks ajigered.] Pretty little bijou of a handkerchief! [Cynthia takes handkerchief out.] And she is charming, and divorced, and reasonably well made up. 84 THE NEW YORK IDEA John. Oh, well, Vida is a woman. \_Business with handker- chief }\ I'm a man, a handkerchief is a handkerchief, and as some old Aristotle or other said, whatever con- cerns a woman, concerns me ! Cynthia. [AW oblivions of him, but in a low voice.'^ Insufferable ! Well, yes. [She sits. She is too much wounded to make any further appeal. '\ You're perfectly right. There's no pos- sible harmony between divorced people ! I withdraw my hand and all good feehng. No wonder I couldn't stand you. Eh? However, that's pleasantly past! But at least, my dear Karslake, let us have some sort of beauty of behavior ! If we cannot be decent, let us en- deavor to be graceful. If we can't be moral, at least we can avoid being vulgar. John. Well Cynthia. If there's to be no more marriage in the world John. {Cynical r^ Oh, but that's not it ; there's to be more and more and more ! Cynthia. {With a touch of bitterness.'] Very well! I repeat then, if there's to be nothing but marriage and divorce, and remarriage, and redivorce, at least, at least, those who are divorced can avoid the vulgarity of meeting each other here, there, and everywhere ! John. Oh, that's where you come out ! TEE NEW YORK IDEA 85. Cynthia. I thought so yesterday, and to-day I know it. It^s arr insufferable thing to a woman of any deUcacy of feeling to find her husband John. Ahem — former ! Cynthia. Once a husband always John. •\SiiU cynical?^ Oh, no ! Oh, dear, no. Cynthia. To find her — to find the man she has once lived with —in the house of— making love to — to find you here ! [John smiles; rises?^ You smile, — but I say, it should be a social axiom, no woman should have to meet her former husband. John. {^Cynical and cuttinj^.'] Oh, I don't know ; after I've served my term I don't mind meeting my jailor. Cynthia. [John takes chair near Cynthia.] It's indecent — at the horse-show, the opera, at races and balls, to meet the man who once It's not civilized! It's fantastic! It's half baked ! Oh, I never should have come here! [//(? sympathizes, and she grows irrational and furious i\ But it's entirely your fault ! John. My fault? Cynthia. {Working herself into a rage7\ Of course. What busi- ness have you to be about — to be at large. To be at all! 86 THE NEW YORK IDEA John. Gosh ! Cynthia. \_As beforej] To be where I am ! Yes, it's just as hor- rible for you to turn up in my Hfe as it would be for a dead person to insist on coming back to life and dinner and bridge ! John. Horrid idea ! Cynthia. Yes, but it's you who behave just as if you were not dead, just as if I'd not spent a fortune on your funeral. You do ; you prepare to bob up at afternoon teas, — and dinners — and embarrass me to death with your extinct personality ! John. Well, of course we were married, but it didn't quite kill me. Cynthia. \_Angry attd plain spoken.'] You killed yourself for me — I divorced you. I buried you out of my life. If any human soul was ever dead, you are ! And there's nothing I so hate as a gibbering ghost. John. Oh, I say Cynthia, [ With hot anger.'] Go gibber and squeak where gibber- ing and squeaking are the fashion ! John. [^Laughs, pretendijig to a coldness he does not feel.] And so, my dear child, I'm to abate myself as a nui- sance ! Well, as far as seeing you is concerned, for my THE NEW YORK IDEA 87 part it's just like seeing a horse who's chucked you once. The bruises are O. K., and you see him with a sort of easy curiosity. Of course, you know, he'll jolly well chuck the next man ! — Permit me ! [John picks up gloves, hatidkerchief and parasol and gives her these as she drops them one by one in her agitation.'] There's pleasure in the thought. Cynthia. Oh! John. And now, may I ask you a very simple question ? Mere curiosity on my part, but, why did you come here this morning ? Cynthia. I have already explained that to you. John. Not your real motive. Permit me ! Cynthia. Oh! John. But I believe I have guessed your real — permit me — your real motive ! Cynthia. Oh! John. [With tnock sympathy^ Cynthia, I am sorry for you. Cynthia. Hm? John. Of course we had a pretty lively case of the fever — the mutual attraction fever, and we were married a very short time. And I conclude that's what's the matter with you ! You see, my dear, seven months of married life is too short a time to cure a bad case of the fancies. 88 THE NEW YORK IDEA Cynthia. \_In angry surprise.'] What ? John. [G?/w and trmmpha7tt.'\ That's my diagnosis. Cynthia. {Slowly and gathering herself together^ I don't think I understand. John. Oh, yes, you do ; yes, you do. Cynthia. \\Vith biasing eyes.] What do you mean ? John. Would you mind not breaking my crop ! Thank you! I mean [with polite impertinence] that ours was a case of premature divorce, and, ahem, you're in love with me still. \Panse. Cynthia has one moment of fury, then she realizes at what a disadvantage this places her. She makes an immense effort, recovers her calm, thinks hard for a moment more, and then, has suddetily an inspiration. Cynthia. Jack, some day you'll get the bhnd staggers from con- ceit. No, I'm not in love with you, Mr. Karslake, but I shouldn't be at all surprised if she were. She's just your sort, you know. She's a man-eating shark, and you'll be a toothsome mouthful. Oh, come now. Jack, what a silly you are ! Oh, yes, you are, to get off a joke Hke that ; me — in love with \_Looks at him. John. Why are you here ? {She laughs and begins to play her game!] Why are you here? Guess ! THE NEW YORK IDEA 89 Cynthia. [She laughs. Why are you John. Cynthia. \_Quickiy.'] Why am I here ! I'll tell you. I'm going to be married. I had a longing, an irresistible longing to see you make an ass of yourself just once more ! It happened ! John. [^Uncertain and discomfited.'] I know better ! Cynthia. But I came for a serious purpose, too. I came, my dear fellow, to make an experiment on myself. I've been with you thirty minutes ; and [She sighs with content.'] It's all right ! John. What's all right? Cynthia. [Calm and apparently at peace with the world.] I'm immune. John. Immune ? Cynthia. You're not catching any more ! Yes, you see, I said to myself, if I fly into a temper John. You did ! 90 THE NEW YORK IDEA Cynthia. If I fly into a temper when I see him, well that shows I'm not yet so entirely convalescent that I can afford to have Jack Karslake at my house. If I remain calm I shall ask him to dinner. John. \_Routed.'\ Ask me if you dare ! [^Rises. Cynthia. [Getting the whip hand for good.'] Ask you to dinner? Oh, my dear fellow. [John rises.] I'm going to do much more than that. [Rises.] We must be friends, old man ! We must meet, we must meet often, we must show New York the way the thing should be done, and, to show you I mean it I want you to be my best man, and give me away when I'm married this after- noon. John. [Incredulous and iinpatiejit.] You don't mean that ! [Puts back chair. Cynthia. There you are ! Always suspicious ! John. You don't mean that ! Cynthia. [Hiding her emotion imder a sportswoman s 7nanner.] Don't I? I ask you, come! And come as you are! And I'll lay my wedding gown to Cynthia K that you won't be there ! If you're there, you get the gown, and if you're not, I get Cynthia K ! John. [Determitted not to be worsted.] I take it! THE NEW YORK IDEA 91 Cynthia. Done ! Now, then, we'll see which of us two is the real sporting goods ! Shake ! \_They shake hands o?i it.'] Would you mind letting me have a plain soda? [John goes to the table, and, as he is rattled and does not regard what he is about, he fills the glass three-fourths full with whiskey. He comes to Cynthia and gives her this. She looks him in the eye with an air of triwnph.'] Thanks. {^Maliciously, as Vida ejiters.'] Your hand is a bit shaky. I i]i\nkyou need a little King Wilham. [John shrugs his shoulders, and as Vida imme- diately speaks, Cynthia defers drinking. Vida. \To Cynthia.] My dear, I'm sorry to tell you your husband — I mean, my husband — I mean Phihp — he's asking for you over the 'phone. You must have said you were coming here. Of course, I told him you were not here, and hung up. {Enter Benson. Benson. {To Vida.] Ma'am, the new footman's been talking with Mr. Phillimore on the wire. [Vida, ^^^^///;' THE NEW YORK IDEA desire to be alone. I expect both you and Grace, Sarah, to be dressed and ready for the ceremony a half hour from now. \_As Philip and Mrs. Phillimore are about to cross, Miss Heneage speaks. Miss Heneage. \_Up R.] I shall come or not as I see fit. And let me add, my dear brother, that a fool at forty is a fool indeed. / [^Exit Miss Heneage, r., high and mighty, and much pleased with her quotation. Mrs. Phillimore. \Stupid and weary as usual, to Philip, as he leads her to the door, r.] My dear son — I won't venture to ex- press [Cynthia crosses l. to table. Philip. {Soothing a silly mother.'] No, mother, don't ! But I shall expect you, of course, at the ceremony. [Mrs. Phillimore exits R. Philip comes down c. Philip takes the tone and assu7?ies the attitude of the injured hus- band.] It is proper for me to tell you that I followed you to Belmont. I am aware — I know with whom — in fact, / know all! {Pauses. He indicates the whole ce?tsorious universe.] And now let me assure you — I am the last man in the world to be jilted on the very eve of — of — every- thing with you. I won't be jilted. [Cynthia is silent.] You understand? I propose to marry you. I won't be made ridiculous. Cynthia. {Glancing at Philip, r.] Philip, I didn't mean to make you Philip. Why, then, did you run oft to Belmont Park with that fellow ? THE NEW YORK IDEA 113 Cynthia. Philip, I— eh Philip. [Siis right of table, R.] What motive ? What reason ? On our wedding day ? Why did you do it? Cynthia. I'll tell you the truth. I was bored. Philip. Bored ? In my company ? [Philip, in a gesture, gives up^ Cynthia. I was bored, and then — and besides. Sir Wilfrid asked me to go. Philip. Exactly, and that was why you went. Cynthia, when you promised to marry me, you told me you had forever done with love. You agreed that marriage was the ra- tional coming together of two people. Cynthia. I know, I know ! Philip. Do you believe that now ? Cynthia. I don't know what 1 believe. My brain is in a whirl ! But, Phihp, I am beginning to be — I'm afraid — yes, I am afraid that one can't just select a great and good man \_she indicates hint] and say : I will be happy with him. Philip. \_With dignity.'] I don't see why not. You must as- suredly do one or the other : You must either let your heart choose or your head select. 114 THE NEW YORK IDEA Cynthia. \_Grave/y.'\ No, there's a third scheme : Sir Wilfrid explained the theory to me. A woman should marry whenever she has a whim for the man, and then leave the rest to the man. Do you see ? Philip. \_Furious.'\ Do I see ? Have I ever seen anything else ? Marry for whim ! That's the New York idea of marriage. Cynthia. [^Giving a cynical opmion.'\ New York ought to know, Philip. Marry for whim and leave the rest to the divorce court ! Marry for whim and leave the rest to the man. That was the former Mrs. Phillimore's idea. Only she spelled " whim " differently ; she omitted the " w," \_He rises i?i his angenl And now you^yoi^ take up with this prepos- terous [Cy'nthia moves uneasily .\_ But, nonsense! It's impossible! A woman of your mental calibre No, Some obscure, primitive, iQxmXe feeling is at work corrupting your better judgment ! What is it you feel? Cynthia. Philip, you never felt Hke a fool, did you ? Philip. No, never. Cynthia. [Politely.'] I thought not. Philip. No, but whatever your feehngs, I conclude you are ready to marry me. THE NEW YORK IDEA 115 Cynthia. [Uneasy.'] Of course, I came back. I am here, am I not? Philip. You are ready to marry me ? Cynthia. [Twisting in the coils.'] But you haven't had your dinner. Philip. Do I understand you refuse ? Cynthia. Couldn't we defer ? Philip. You refuse ? Cynthia. [A slight pause ; trapped and seeing 7io way out.] No, I said I'd marry you. I'm a woman of my word. I will. Philip. [Triumphant.] Ah ! Very good, then. Run to your room. [Cynthia turns to Philip.] Throw something over you. In a half hour I'll expect you here! And Cynthia, my dear, remember ! I cannot cuculate like a wood pigeon, but — I esteem you ! Cynthia. [Hopelessly.] I think I'll go, Philip. Philip. I may not be fitted to play the love-bird, but Cynthia. [As before^] I think I'll go, Philip. 116 THE NEW YORK IDEA Philip. I'll expect you,— in half an hour. Cynthia. [ With leaden despair.'] Yes. Philip. And, Cynthia, don't think any more about that fellow, Cates-Darby. Cynthia. [Amazed and disgusted by his tnisappre hens ion. "] No. \_Exit Cynthia, r, Thomas enters fro?n l. Philip. [Goes to R. table.'] And if I had that fellow, Cates- Darby, in the dock ! Thomas. Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby. Philip. Sir what — what — wh-who.^ [Enter Sir Wilfrid, l. in evening dress. Tableau. Philip looks Sir Wilfrid in the face and speaks to Thomas.] Tell Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby I am not at home to him. [Thomas embarrassed. Sir Wilfrid. [Undaunted?^ My dear Lord Eldon Philip, [r., to Thomas, as before.] Show the gentleman the door. [Pause. Sir Wilfrid glances at door R., and gesture. Sir Wilfrid. [Goes to the door, examities it and returns to Philip.] Eh, — I admire the door, my boy ! Fine, old carved THE NEW YORK IDEA IIT mahogany panel ; but don't ask me to leave by it, for Mrs. Karslake made me promise I'd come, and that's why I'm here. [Thomas exits, L. Philip. Sir, you are — impudent ! Sir Wilfrid. \^Inierrupiing.'] Ah, you put it all in a nutshell, don't you ? Philip. To show your face here, after practically eloping with my wife ! Sir Wilfrid. \_Pretending ignorance^ When were you married ? Philip. We are as good as married. Sir Wilfrid. Oh, pooh, pooh ! You can't tell me that grace before soup is as good as a dinner ! \Takes cigar-case out ; business of a dry smoke^ Philip. Sir — I — demand Sir Wilfrid. \Cahnly carrying the situation.~\ Mrs. Karslake is not married. T'-^a/'j why I'm here. I am here for the same purpose ^^« are ; to ask Mrs. Karslake to be my wife. Philip. Are you in your senses ? Sir Wilfrid. [ Touching up his American cousin in his pet vanity ^^^ Come, come, Judge — you Americans have no sense of 118 THE NEW YORK IDEA humor. [He takes a small Jewel-case from his pocket.'] There's my regards for the lady — and [reasonably], if 1 must go, I will. Of course, I would hke to see her, but — if it isn't your American custom [Enter Thomas. Thomas. Mr. Karslake. Sir Wilfrid. Oh, well, I say ; if he can come, I can ! [Efiter ]on^ Karslake in evening dress, carry- ing a large and very smart bride's bouquet which he hands to Philip. Philip takes it because he isn t up to dropping it, but gets it out of his hands as soon as he can. Philip is transfixed ; John co?nes, down C. Deep down he is feeliiig wounded and unhappy. But, as he knows his coming to the cei-emony on what- ever pretext is a social outrage, he carries it off by assuming an air of its being the most fiatural thing iji the world. He controls the expres- sion of his deeper emotion, but the pressure of this keeps his face grave, and he speaks with force. John. My compliments to the bride, Judge. Philip. XAngry.] And you, too, have the effrontery? Sir Wilfrid. There you are ! John. \_Preiending ease.] Oh, call it friendship [Thomas exits, l. THE NEW YORK IDEA 119 Philip. [^Puts bouquet on table. Ironically.'] I suppose Mrs. Karslake John. She wagered me I wouldn't give her away, and of course [^Throughout this scene John hides the emotions he will not show behind a daring irony. He has Philip on his left, walking about in a fury: Sir Wilfrid sits on the edge of the table, gay and undisturbed. Philip. \A step toward John.] You will oblige me — both of you — by immediately leaving John. \_Smiles and goes to Philip.] Oh, come, come, Judge — suppose I am here ? Who has a better right to attend his wife's obsequies ! Certainly, I come as a mourner — for you ! Sir Wilfrid. I say, is it the custom ? John. No, no — of course it's not the custom, no. But we'll make it the custom. After all, — what's a divorced wife among friends? Philip. Sir, your humor is strained ! John. Humor, — Judge ? Philip. It is, sir, and I'll not be bantered ! Your both being here is — it is — gentlemen, there is a decorum which the stars in their courses do not violate. 120 THE NEW YORK IDEA John. Now, Judge, never you mind what the stars do in their divorces! Get down to earth of the present day. Rufus Choate and Daniel Webster are dead. You must be modern. You must let peroration and poetry alone ! Come along now. Why shouldn't I give the lady away? Sir Wilfrid. Hear ! Hear ! Oh, I beg your pardon ! John. And why shouldn't we both be here? American mar- riage is a new thing. We've got to strike the pace, and the only trouble is, Judge, that the judiciary have so messed the thing up that a man can't be sure he is mar- ried until he's divorced. It's a sort of marry-go-round, to be sure ! But let it go at that ! Here we all are, and we're ready to marry my wife to you, and start her on her way to him ! Philip. {^Brought to a standstill^ Good Lord ! Sir, you can- not trifle with monogamy ! John. Now, now. Judge, monogamy is just as extinct as knee- breeches. The new woman has a new idea, and the new idea is — well, it's just the opposite of the old Mormon one. Their idea is one man, ten wives and a hundred children. Our idea is one woman, a hundred husbands and one child. Philip. Sir, this is polyandry. John. Polyandry? A hundred to one it's polyandry; and that's it, Judge ! Uncle Sam has estabhshed consecutive polyandry, — but there's got to be an interval between THE NEW YORK IDEA 121 husbands! The fact is, Judge, the modern American marriage is Uke a wire fence. The woman's the wire — the posts are the husbands. \_He indicates himself, and />^^/2 Sir Wilfrid a;z^/ Philip.] One— two — three! And if you cast your eye over the future you can count them, post after post, up hill, down dale, all the way to Dakota ! Philip. All very amusing, sir, but the fact remains John. l^Goes to Philip, r. Philip moves to R.] Now, now. Judge, I like you. But you're asleep; you're living in the dark ages. You want to call up Central. " Hello, Central ! Give me the present time, 1906, New York ! " Sir Wilfrid. Of course you do, and — there you are ! Philip. There I am not, sir! And — \To John] as for Mr. Karslake's ill-timed jocosity, — sir, in the future Sir Wilfrid. Oh, hang the future ! Philip. I begin to hope. Sir Wilfrid, that in the future I shall have the pleasure of hanging you! [77? John.] And as to you, sir, your insensate idea of giving away your own — your former — my — your — oh ! Good Lord ! This is a nightmare ! \_He turns to go in despair. Enter Matthew, who, seeiftg Philip, speaks as he comes in from - door R. Matthew. \To Philip.] My dear brother. Aunt Sarah Heneage refuses to give Mrs. Karslake away, unless you your- self,— eh 122 TEE NEW YORK IDEA Philip. \_As he exits.'] No more ! I'll attend to the matter ! [Exit, R. The choir boys are heard i)racticin^ in the next room. Matthew. [Mopping his brow.] How do you both do? My aunt has made me very warm. \_He rings the bell.] You hear our choir practicing — sweet angel boys ! Hm ! Hm ! Some of the family will not be present. I am very fond of you, Mr. Karslake, and I think it admirably Christian of you to have waived your — eh — your — eh — that is, now that I look at it more narrowly, let me say, that in the excitement of pleasurable anticipation, I forgot, Karslake, that your presence might occasion remark [Enter Thomas.] Thomas ! I left, in the hall, a small handbag or satchel containing my surplice. Thomas. Yes, sir. Ahem ! Matthew. You must really find the handbag at once. [Thomas turns to go, when he stops startled. Thomas. Yes, sir. [Announcing in consternation.] Mrs. Vida Philhmore. [Enter Y ID A Phillimore, in full evening dress. She steps gently to Matthew. Matthew. [Always piously serene.] Ah, my dear child ! Now this is just as it should be ! That is, eh [He comes c. loith her ; she pointedly looks away fro7n Sir Wilfrid.] That is, when I come to think of it — your presence might be deemed inauspicious. THE NEW YORK IDEA 123 ViDA. But, my dear Matthew,— I had to come. [Aside to him.'] I have a reason for being here. [Thomas enters from r. Matthew. But, my dear child [^Gesture. Thomas. [With syinpalhetic intention.] Sir, Mr. Phillimore wishes to have your assistance, sir — with Miss Heneage immediately ! Matthew. Ah! {To ViDA.] One moment! I'll return. [Jb Thomas.] Have you found the bag with my surplice r \_He goes out L., with Thomas, speaking. Sir Wilfrid cojnes to Vida. John crosses and cojnes down r. and watches door up l. Sir Wilfrid. [To Vida.] You're just the person I most want to seel Vida. [With affected icittess.] Oh, no, Sir Wilfrid, Cynthia isn't here yet! [Crosses R., to table. John comes down fight of table r. To him, with obvious sweetness.] Jack, dear, I never was so ravished to see any one. Sir Wilfrid. [Taken aback.] By Jove ! Vida. [Very sweet.] I knew I should find you here ! John. [Annoyed but civil.] Now don't do that ! 124 THE NEW YORK IDEA ViDA. {As before.'] Jack ! [They sit. John. [Civil but plain spoken.'] Don't do it ! ViDA. [/« a voice dripping with honey.] Do what, Jack ? John. Touch me with your voice ! I have troubles enough of my own. \_He sits not far from her ; the table between them. ViDA. And I know ivho your troubles are ! Cynthia ! [From this momejit Vida gives up John as an object of the chase and lets him into her other gatne. John. I hate her. I don't know why I came. Vida. You came, dear, because you couldn't stay away — you're in love with her. John. All right, Vida, what I feel may be love — but all I can say is, if I could get even with Cynthia Karslake Vida. You can, dear — it's as easy as powdering one's face ; all you have to do is to be too nice to me ! John. [Looks inquiringly at Vida.] Eh ! THE NEW YORK IDEA 125 ViDA. Don't you realize she's jealous of you? Why did she come to my house this morning ? She's jealous — and all you have to do John. If I can make her wince, I'll make love to you till the Heavenly cows come home ! ViDA. Well, you see, riiy dear, if you make love to me it will [she delicately indicates SiR Wilfrid] cut both ways at once ! John. Eh,— what ! Not Cates-Darby ? [Starts.'] Is that Cynthia? ViDA. Now don't get rattled and forget to make love to me. John. I've got the jumps. [ Trying to accept her instructions^ Vida, I adore you. ViDA. Oh, you must be more convincing ; that won't do at all. John. [Listens.] Is that she now? [Enter Matthew, who goes to the inner rootn. Vida. It's Matthew, And, Jack, dear, you'd best get the hang of it before Cynthia comes. You might tell me all about your divorce. That's a sympathetic subject. Were you able to undermine it ? 126 THE NEW YORK IDEA John. No. I've got a wire from my lawyer this morning. The divorce holds. She's a free woman. She can marry whom she likes. \_The organ is heard, very softly played.^ Is that Cynthia? \_Rises quickly. ViDA. It's the organ ! John. \_Overwhelmingly ex cited. '\ By George ! I should never have come ! I think I'll go. \_He crosses to go to the door. ViDA. \_She rises and follows him refjionstratingly .'] When I need you ? John. I can't stand it. Oh, but, Jack- Good-night ! ViDA. John. ViDA. I feel quite ill. [^Seeing that she must play her last card to keep hitn, pretends to faintness ; sways and falls into his arms.'] Oh ! John. [/« a rage, but beaten^ I beUeve you're putting up a fake. \flhe organ swells as Cynthia enters sweepingly ^ dressed in full evening dress for the wedding cerentony. Tableau. ]onK, not knoiving what to do, holds ViDA up as a horrid necessity. THE NEW YORK IDEA 127 Cynthia. \Speaking as she comes on, to Matthew.] Here I am. Ridiculous to make it a conventional thing, you know. Come in on the swell of the music, and all that, just as if I'd never been married before. Where's Philip? [^She looks for Philip attd sees John with ViDA in his artns. She stops short. John. \Uneasy and embarrassed.'] A glass of water! I beg your pardon, Mrs. Karslake [ The organ plays on>. Cynthia, \_Ironical and calm.] Vida ! John. She has fainted. Cynthia. {As before 7\ Fainted.? \_lVithout paicse.] Dear, dear^ dear, terrible ! So she has. [Sir Wil.yki'D takes Jiowers from a vase and prepares to sprinkle Vida's forehead with the water it contains.] No, no, not her forehead, Sir Wil- frid, her frock ! Sprinkle her best Paquin ! If it's a real faint, she will not come to ! Vida. \As her Paris importation is about to suffer comes to her senses.] I almost fainted, Cynthia. Almost ! Vida. \Using the stock phrase as a matter of course, and reviv- ing rapidly.] Where am I ? [John glances at Cynthia sharply.] Oh, the bride ! I beg every one's pardon.. Cynthia, at a crisis hke this, I simply couldn't stay away from Philip ! 128 THE NEW YORK IDEA Cynthia. Stay away from Philip ? [John t?«^ Cynthia exchange glances, ViDA. Your arm, Jack ; and lead me where there is air, [John and Vida go into the further room ; John stands left of her. The organ stops. Sir Wil- frid comes down. He and Cynthia are practically alone on the stage. John a7id Vida are barely withm sight. You first see him take her fan and give her air ; then he picks up a book and reads from it to her. Sir Wilfrid. I've come back. Cynthia. \To Sir Wilfrid.] Asks for air and goes to the green- liouse. [Cynthia crosses l. Sir Wilfrid offers her a seat.~\ I know why you are here. It's that intoxicating little whim you suppose me to have for you. My re- grets ! But the whim's gone flat! Yes, yes, my gaso- line days are over. I'm going to be garaged for good, (However, I'm glad you're here ; you take the edge t)ff Sir Wilfrid. Mr. PhilHmore? Cynthia, \Sharpiy.'\ No, Karslake. I'm just waiting to say the words [^«/^r Thomas] "love, honor and obey" to Phil- limore — {looks up back'] and at Karslake ! [Cynthia sees Thomas.] What is it ? Mr. PhilHmore ? Thomas, Mr. PhilHmore will be down in a few minutes, ma'am. He's very sorry, ma'am, [lowers his voice and comes THE NEW YORK IDEA 129 nearer Cynthia, mindful of the respectabilities] but there's a button off his waistcoat. Cynthia. [Rises, crossing l.] Button off his waistcoat ! \_Exit Thomas, l. Sir Wilfrid. [Delightedly. '] Ah! So much the better for me. [Cynthia looks up back.'] Now, then, never mind those two ! [Cynthia ?noves restlessly.] Sit down. Cynthia. I can't. Sir Wilfrid. You're as nervous as Cynthia. Nervous! Of course I'm nervous! So would you be nervous if you'd had had a runaway and smash up, and you were going to try it again. [Looks up back. Sir Wilfrid uneasy^ And if some one doesn't do away with those calla lilies — the odor makes me faint ! [Sir Wilfrid viovesT] No, it's not the hhes ! It's the orange blossoms I Sir Wilfrid. Orange blossoms. Cynthia. The flowers that grow on the tree that hangs over the abyss! [Sir Wilfrid gets the vase of orange blossoms.] They smell of six o'clock in the evening. When Philip's fallen asleep, and little boys are crying the winners out- side, and I'm crying inside, and dying inside and outside and everywhere. [Sir Wilfrid co^nes down. 130 THE NEW YORK IDEA Sir Wilfrid. Sorry to disappoint you. They're artificial. [Cynthia shrugs her shoulders.'] Tliat'sitI They're emblematic of artificial domesticity ! And I'm here to help you balk it. \_He sits; Cynthia half rises and looks toward ]ovl^ and ViDA.] Keep still now, I've a lot to say to you. Stop looking Cynthia. Do you think I can hsten to you make love to me when the man who — who — whom I most despise in all the world, is reading poetry to the woman who — who got me into the fix I'm in ! Sir Wilfrid. \Leaning over the chair in which she sits.'\ What do you want to look at 'em for.-* \QYWiYL\h. Jitoves.] Let'em be and listen to me ! Sit down ; for damme, I'm deter- mined. [Cynthia sits right of table R. Cynthia. [^Halfto herself] I won't look at them ! I won't think of them. Beasts ! [Sir Wilfrid interposes between her and her view ^ John. it«/K and nothing else. 1 I can see Vida in the nursery. Sir Wilfrid. You understand when you want a brood mare, you don't choose a Kentucky mule. Cynthia. I think I see one. Sir Wilfrid. Well, that's what they're saying over there. They say your gals run to talk, \Jie plainly remembers Vida's volu- bility] and I have seen gals here that would chat life into a wooden Indian ! That's what you Americans call be- THE NEW YORK IDEA 133 ing clever. — All brains and no stuffin' ! In fact, some of your American gals are the nicest boys I ever met. Cynthia. So that's what you think ? Sir Wilfrid. Not a bit what /think— what my countrymen think! Cynthia. Why are you telling me ? Sir Wilfrid. Oh, just explaining my character. I'm the sort that can pick and choose — and what I want is heart. Cynthia. [Always Vida a;/^ John in 7nmd.'\ No more heart than a dragon-fly ! [ The organ begins to play softly. Sir Wilfrid. That's it, dragon-fly. Cold as stone and never stops buzzing about and showin' off her colors. It's that American dragon-fly girl that I'm afraid of, because d'ye see, I don't know what an American expects when he marries; yes, but you're not listening ! Cynthia. I am hstening. I am ! Sir Wilfrid. \Speaks directly to her.'\ An Englishman, ye see, when he marries expects three things ; love, obedience and five children. Cynthia. Three things ! I make it seven ! 134 THE NEW YORK IDEA Sir Wilfrid. Yes, my dear, but the point is, will you be mistress of Traynham? Cynthia. [^VVho has only half lisietied to him.'] No, Sir Wilfrid, thank you, I won't. \_She turns to see John crossing the drawing-room at back, with Vida, apparently absorbed in what she says.] It's outrageous ! Sir Wilfrid. Eh ? Why you're cryin' ? Cynthia. [^Almost sobbing.] I am not. Sir Wilfrid. You're not crying because you're in love with me? Cynthia. I'm not crying — or if I am, I'm crying because I love my country. It's a disgrace to America — cast-off hus- bands and wives getting together in a parlor and playing tag under a palm-tree. [John with ifitention and dete?'mined to stab Cynthia, kisses Vida's hand. Sir Wilfrid. Eh! Oh! I'm damned! \_To Cynthia.] What do you think that means ? Cynthia. I don't doubt it means a wedding here, at once — after mine ! [Vida and John cojne down. Vida. [Affecting an impossible intimacy to wound Cynthia and tantalize Sir Wilfrid,] Hush, Jack — I'd much THE NEW YORK IDEA 135 rather no one should know anything about it until it's all over ! Cynthia. [Starts and looks at Sir Wilfrid.] What did I tell you ? ViDA. [To Cynthia.] Oh, my dear, he's asked me to cham- pagne and lobster at your house — his house ! Matthew is coming ! [Cynthia starts, but controls herself.'] And you're to come. Sir Wilfrid. [Vida speaks, intetidmg to convey the idea of a sudden marriage ceremofty.~\ Of course, my dear, 1 would hke to wait for your wedding, but something rather — rather important to me is to take place, and I know you'll excuse me. [ Organ -stops. Sir Wilfrid. [Piqued at being forgotten.] All very neat, but you haven't given me a chance, even. Vida. Chance "l You're not serious ? Sir Wilfrid. I am ! Vida. [Striking while the iron is hot.] I'll give you a minute to offer yourself. Sir Wilfrid. Eh? Vida. Sixty seconds from now. Sir Wilfrid. [Uncertain.] There's such a thing as bein' silly. 136 THE NEW YORK IDEA ViDA. [Calm cmd cktermined.'] Fifty seconds left. Sir Wilfrid. I take you — count fair. [He hands her his watch and goes to where Cynthia stands.'] I say, Mrs. Karslake Cynthia. [Overwhelmed with grief and emotion.] They're en- gaged ; they're going to be married to-night, over cham- pagne and lobster at my house ! Sir Wilfrid. Will you consider your Cynthia. [Hastily, to get rid of him.] No, no, no, no ! Thank you, Sir Wilfrid, I will not. Sir Wilfrid. [Calm, and not to be laid low.] Thanks awfully. [Crosses to ViDA. Cynthia goes up.] Mrs. Philli- more Vida. [She gives him back his watch.] Too late ! [To Kars- lake.] Jack, dear, we must be off. Sir Wilfrid. [Standing c. and snaking a general appeal for informa- tion.] I say, is it the custom for American girls — that sixty seconds or too late ? Look here ! Not a bit too late. I'll take you around to Jack Karslake's, and I'm going to ask you the same old question again, you know. [To ViDA.] By Jove, you know in your country it's the pace that kills. [Exeunt Sir Wilfrid a?td Vida, l. door. THE NEW YORK IDEA 137 John. \_GraveIy to Cynthia, who comes {/own.'] Good-night, Mrs. Karslake, I'm going ; I'm sorry I came. Cynthia. Sorry ? Why are you sorry ? [John /oo^s at her; she winces a iittie.'] You've got what you wanted. \_Pause.'] 1 wouldn't mind your marrying Vida ■ John. [^Gravely.] Oh, wouldn't you? Cynthia. But I don't think you showed good taste in engaging yourselves here. John. Of course, I should have preferred a garden of roses and plenty of twilight. Cynthia. '[^Rushing into speech.] I'll tell you what you have done — you've thrown yourself away ! A woman like that ! No head, no heart ! All languor and loose — loose frocks — she's the typical, worst thing America can do ! She's the regular American marriage worm ! John. I have known others Cynthia. l^Quickly.] Not me. I'm not a patch on that woman. Do you know anything about her life? Do you know the things she did to Philip ? Kept him up every night of his life — forty days out of every thirty — and then, with- out his knowing it, put brandy in his coffee to make him lively at breakfast. 138 THE NEW YORK IDEA John. \_Ba7ttertngiy.'\ I begin to think she is just the woman Cynthia. \U7table to quiet her jealousy?!^ She is not the woman for you! A man with your bad temper — your airs of authority — your assumption of — of — everything. What you need is a good, old-fashioned, bread poultice woman ! [Cynthia, full stop ; faces John. John. \_Sharfly.'] Can't say I've had any experience of the good old-fashioned bread poultice. Cynthia. I don't care what you say ! If you marry Vida Philli- more — you shan't do it. {Tears of rage choking her. '\ No, I liked your father and for his sake, I'll see that his son doesn't make a donkey of himself a second time. John. \Too angry to be amused.'] Oh, I thought I was divorced. I begin to feel as if I had you on my hands still. Cynthia, You have ! You shall have ! If you attempt to marry her, I'll follow you— and I'll find her— I'll tell Vida— \_he turns to her] I will. I'll tell Vida just what sort of a dance you led me. John. {Quickly on her last word but speaking gravely.] In- deed ! Will you ? And why do you care what happens to me .'• Cynthia. {Startled by his tone.] I — I — ah THE NEW YORK IDEA 139 John. \lnsistently and with a faint hope,'] Why do you caret Cynthia. I don't. Not in your sense John. How dare you then pretend Cynthia. I don't pretend. John. [^Interrupting her ; proud, serious and strong.'] How dare you look me in the tace with the eyes that I once kissed, and pretend the least regard for me ? [Cynthia recoils and looks away. Her own feelings are revealed to her clearly for the first time.] 1 begm to understand our American women now. Fire-flies — and the fire they gleam with is so cold that a midge couldn't warm his heart at it, let alone a man. You're not of the same race as a man ! You married me for nothing, divorced me for nothing, because you a^-e nothing ! Cynthia. [Wounded to the heart.] Jack! What are you say- ing? John. , {With unrestrained einotion.] What, — you feigning an interest in me, feigning a lie — and in five minutes [Gesture indicating altar.] Oh, you've taught me the trick of your sex — you're the woman who's not a woman ! Cynthia. [Weakly.] You're saying terrible things to me. 140 THE NEW YORK IDEA John. [^Low and with intensity.'] You haven't been divorced from me long enough to forget — what you should be ashamed to remember. Cynthia. {^Unable to face him and pretending not to understand hitn.l I don't know what you mean? John. [More forcibly and with niajily emotion.] You're not able to forget me? You know you're not able to forget me ; ask yourself if you are able to forget me, and when your heart, such as it is, answers " no," then \The organ is plainly heard.] Well, then, prance gaily up to the altar and marry that, if you can ! \_He exits quickly, L. Cynthia crosses to arm- chair and sinks into it. She trembles as if she were overdone. Voices are heard speakitig in the next roojn. Enter Matthew arid Miss Heneage, r. Ejiter Philip, r. Cynthia is so sunk in the chair they do not see her, Miss Heneage goes up to sofa back and waits. They all are dressed for an evening reception and Philip in the traditional bridegroom' s rig — large buttonhole, etc. Matthew. \As he enters.] I am sure you will do your part, Sarah — in a spirit of Christian decorum. \To Philip.] It was impossible to find my surplice, Philip, but the more in- formal the better. Philip. \With pompous responsibility r\ Where's Cynthia? [Matthew gives glance around room. THE NEW YORK IDEA .141 Matthew. Ah, here's the choir! \_Goes up stage. Choir boys come in very orderly ; divide and take their places, an even mwiber on each side of the altar of /lowers. Mat- thew vaguely superintends. Philip gets in the way of the bell. Moves out of the way. is^/^r Thomas.] Thomas, I directed you One moment if you please. \_Indicates table and chairs. Thomas hastens to move chairs and table l. against wall. Philip co7nes down. Philip. {^Looking for her.'] Where' s Cynthia ? [Cynthia rises. Philip sees her wheji she moves and crosses toward her, but stops. Organ stops. Cynthia. [^Faintly.'] Here I am. [Matthew comes down. Organ plays softly. Matthew. [^Coming to Cynthia.] Ah, my very dear Cynthia, I knew there was something. Let me tell you the words of the hymn I have chosen : " Enduring love ; sweet end of strife ! Oh, bless this happy man and wife ! " I'm afraid you feel — eh — eh ! Cynthia. [^Desperately calm.'] I feel awfully queer — I think I need a scotch. [Orgafi stops. Philip remains uneasily up l. Mrs. PhillIxMORE and Grace enter back slowly, as cheerf^illy as if they ivere going to hear the funeral service read. They remain up L, 142 THE NEW YORK IDEA Matthew. Really, my dear, in the pomp and vanity — I mean — ceremony of this— this unique occasion, there should be sufficient exhilaration. Cynthia. \_As before.'] But there isn't ! [She sits. Matthew. I don't think my Bishop would approve of — eh — any- thing before ! Cynthia. [ Too agitated to know how much she is moved."] I feel very queer. Matthew. [Piously sure thai everything is for the best.] My dear child Cynthia. However, I suppose there's nothing for it — now — but — to— to Matthew. Courage ! Cynthia. [Desperate and with sudden explosion.] Oh, don't speak to me. I feel as if I'd been eating gunpowder, and the very first word of the wedding service would set it off! Matthew. My dear, your indisposition is the voice of nature. [Cynthia speaks more rapidly ajtd with growing excitetnent. Matthew goes up to c, ajid near the choir boys. THE NEW YORK IDEA 143 Cynthia. Ah, — that's it — nature ! [Matthew shakes his head.] I've a great mind to throw the reins on nature's neck. Philip. Matthew ! [i% moves to take his stand for the ceremony. Matthew. [Looks at Philip. To Cynthia.] PhiUp is ready. [Philip comes down c. The organ plays the wed- dijig march . Cynthia. {To herself, as if at bay. 1 Ready? Ready,? Ready? Matthew. Cynthia, you will take Miss Heneage's arm. [Miss Heneage comes down near table.'] Sarah! [Matthew indicates to Miss Heneage where Cynthia is. Miss Heneage advances a step or two. Matthew goes up C, ajid speaks in a low voice to choir.] Now please don't forget, my boys. When I raise my hands so, you begin, "Enduring love, sweet end of strife," etc. [Cynthia has risen. On the table is her long lace cloak. She stands by this table. - Matthew assumes sacerdotal importance a7id takes his position inside the altar of fioivers.] Ahem ! Philip! \_He indicates to Philip to take his position 7] Sarah! [Cynthia breathes fast, and supports herself on table. Miss Heneage goes doiun l. a7id stands for a moment looking at Cynthia.] The ceremony will now begin. \The organ plays Mendelssohn s wedding march. Cynthia turns and faces Miss Heneage. Miss Heneage comes c. slowly, and extends her hand in her readiness to lead the bride to the altar. 144 THE NEW YORK IDEA Miss Heneage. Mrs. Karslake ! Philip. Ahem! [Matthew steps forward two or three steps. Cynthia stands turned to stone. Matthew. My dear Cynthia. I request you— to take your place. [Cynthia moves one or two steps across as if to go tip to the altar. She takes Miss YiY.-^Y.k.QY: ^ hand atid slowly they walk toward Matthew.] Your husband to be — is ready, the ring is in my pocket. I have only to ask you the — eh— necessary questions, — and— eh— all will be bhss- fully over in a moment. \The organ is louder. Cynthia. \At this moment, just as she reaches Philip, she stops, faces round, looks him, Matthew and the rest in the face and cries out in despair.'] Thomas ! Call a hansom ! [Thomas exits and leaves door open. Miss Heneage crosses L. Mrs. Phillimore rises. Cynthia grasps her cloak on table r. Philip turns and Cynthia comes right of Q. and stops.] I can't, Philip — I can't. \^Whistle of hansojn is heard off ; the organ stops.] It is simply a case of throwing the reins on nature's neck — up anchor — and sit tight! [Matthew ^rr^^^^^ /t>i.kk comes c], I want you to stay here, and if Mrs. Karslake comes, don't fail to let me know ! Now then, for Heaven's sake, what did Matthew say to you? Sir Wilfrid. Come along in and I'll tell you. John. On your life now. Fiddler, don't fail to let me [Exeunt John and Sir Wilfrid. Vida. {Voice off,] Ah, here you are ! Fiddler. Phew ! [A mojnenfs pause, aftd Cynthia enters. She comes in very quietly, almost shyly, and as if she were tmcertain of her welcome. THE NEW YORK IDEA 155 Cynthia. Fiddler! Where is he? Has he come? Is he here ? Has he gone ? Fiddler. {^Rattled.'] Nobody's gone, ma'am, except the Rev- erend Matthew PhiUimore. Cynthia. Matthew? He's been here and gone? [Fiddler nods assent.'] You don't mean I'm too late? He's married them already ? Fiddler. Nogam says he married them ! Cynthia. He's married them ! Married ! Married before I could get here ! [^Sits in armchairT] Married in less time than it takes to pray for rain ! Oh, well, the church — the church is a regular quick marriage counter. {Voices of ViBX and John heard off in light-hearted laughter !\ Oh ! Fiddler. I'll tell Mr. Karslake Cynthia. {Rising and going to the door through which John left the stage ; she turns the key i?i the lock and takes it out.] No — 1 wouldn't see him for the world ! {She comes down with key to the work-table.] If I'm too late, I'm too late ! and that's the end of it ! {She lays key on table L. ; remains stajiding near it.\ I've come, and now I'll go! {Long pause. Cynthia looks about the room; changes her tone.] Well, Fiddler, it's all a good deal as it used to be in my day. Fiddler. No, ma'am — everything changed, even the horses. 156 THE NEW YORK IDEA Cynthia. \Sa7ne business; absent-mindedly. ^^ Horses — how are the horses ? [Throughout this scene she gives the idea that she is saying good-bye to her life with John. Fiddler, [r. c] Ah, when husband and wife sphts, ma'am, it's tlie horses that suffer. Oh, yes, ma'am, we're all changed since you give us the go-by, — even the guv' nor. Cynthia, [l. c] How's he changed ? Fiddler. Lost his sharp for horses, and ladies, ma'am — gives 'em both the boiled eye. Cynthia, [l. c, down.l I can't say 1 see any change; there's my portrait — I suppose he sits and pulls faces at me. Fiddler. Yes, ma'am, I think Fd better tell him of your bein' here. Cynthia. [^Gently but decidedly.'] No, Fiddler, no ! [She again looks about her.] The room's in a terrible state of dis- order. However, your new mistress will attend to that. [Pause.] Why, that's not her hat ! Fiddler. Yours, ma'am. Cynthia. Mine ? [She goes to the table to look at it.] Is that my work-basket ? [Pause.] My gloves ? [Fiddler assents.] And I suppose [She hurriedly goes to the writing- table.] My — yes, there it is : my wedding ring ! — just THE NEW YORK IDEA 157 where I dropped it! Oh, oh, oh, he keeps it hke this — hat, gloves, basket and ring, everything just as it was that crazy, mad day when I \_Giances at F\n- DLER and breaks off'.'] But for Heaven's sake, Fiddler, set that chair on its feet ! Fiddler. Against orders, ma'am. Cynthia. Against orders ? Fiddler. You kicked it over, ma'am, the day you left us. Cynthia. No wonder he hates me with the chair in that state ! He nurses his wrath to keep it warm. So, after all, Fiddler, everything is changed, and that chair is the proof of it. I suppose Cynthia K is the only thing in the world that cares a whinney whether Fm alive or dead. \_She breaks down and sobs.] How is she, Fiddler? Fiddler. Off her oats, ma'am, this evening. Cynthia. Off her oats ! Well, she loves me, so I suppose she will die, or change, or — or something. Oh, she'll die, there's no doubt about that — she'll die. [Fiddler, who has been watching his chance, takes the key off the table while she is sobbing, tiptoes up the stage, unlocks the door and goes out. After he has done so, Cynthia rises and dries her eyes^ There — Fm a fool — I must go — before — before — he {_As she speaks her last word John comes on. John. Mrs. Karslake ! 158 THE NEW YORK IDEA Cynthia. \_Confused.'] I — I — I just heard Cynthia K was ill [John assents. Cynthia tries to put on a cheerful and indifferent tnanner.'] I — I ran round — I — and — and {^Pauses, tttrns, comes down.'} Well, I understand it's all over. John. [CAeerfu//y.'] Yes, it's all over. Cynthia. Howr is the bride ? * John. Oh, she's a wonder. Cynthia. Indeed ! Did she paw the ground like the war horse in the Bible? I'm sure when Vida sees a wedding ring she smells the battle afar off. As for you, my dear Kars- lake, I should have thought once bitten, twice shy ! But, you know best. \_Enter Vida, back l. Vida. Oh, Cynthia, I've just been through it again, and I feel as if I were eighteen. There's no use talking about it, my dear, with a woman it's never the second time ! And how nice you were, Jack, — he never even laughed at us! {Enter Sir Wilfrid, with hat arid cane. Vida kisses John.] That's the wages of virtue I Sir Wilfrid. [/« time to see her kiss John.] I say, is it the custom ? Every time she does that, my boy, you owe me a thousand pounds. \Sees Cynthia, who comes down above chair ; he looks at her and John in turn.~\ Mrs, Karslake. \To John.] And then you say it's not an ex- traordinary country ! [Cynthia is more and more puzzled. THE NEW YORK IDEA 159, VlDA. [To John.] See you next Derby, Jack! \_Cyosses fa door R. 'Jo Sir Wilfrid.] Come along, Wilfrid ! We really ought to be going. \_To Cynthia.] I hope, dear,, you haven't married him ! Phillimore's a tomb ! Good- bye, Cynthia — I'm so happy ! \_As she goes.'] Just think of the silly people, dear, that only have this sensa« tion once in a hfetime! \^Exit ViDA. John follows Vida oJ^. Sir Wilfrid. [To Cynthia.] Good-bye, Mrs. Karslake. And I say^ ye know, if you have married that dull old Phillimore fellah, why when you've divorced him, come over and stay at Traynham ! I mean, of course, ye know, bring your new husband. There'll be lots o' horses to show you, and a whole covey of jolly httle Cates-Darbys. Mind you come ! \_With real delicacy of feeling aiid forgetting his wife.] Never liked a woman as much in my life as I did you ! Vida. {^Outside; calling him 7] Wilfrid, dear ! Sir Wilfrid. \Loyal to the woman who has caught him.] except the one that's calling me ! {^Reenter John. Sir Wilfrid nods to him and goes off. John shuts door and crosses l. A pause. Cynthia. So you're not married? John. No. But I know that you imagined I was. {^Pause^ 160 THE NEW YORK IDEA Cynthia. I suppose you think a woman has no right to divorce a man — and still continue to feel a keen interest in his affairs ? John. Well, I'm not so sure about that, but I don't quite see how Cynthia. A woman can be divorced — and still [John as- seftts ; she hides her embarrassmetit.'] Well, my dear Karslake, you've a long life before you, in which to learn how such a state of mind is possible! So I won't stop to explain. Will you be kind enough to get me a cab .^ [She moves to the door. John. Certainly. I was going to say I am not surprised at your feeling an interest in me. I'm only astonished that, having actually married Phillimore, you come here Cynthia. {Indignantly. '\ I'm not married to him ! \_A pause. John. I left you on the brink — made me feel a httle un- certain. Cynthia. [/« a matter of course tone."] I changed my mind — that's all. John. {^Taking his to7ie from her. '\ Of course. \A pause.'\ Are you going to marry him ? THE NEW YORK IDEA 161 Cynthia. I don't know. John. Does he know you Cynthia. I told him I was coming here. John. Oh! He'll turn up here, then— eh ? [Cynthia is siient.'] And you'll go back with him, I suppose ? Cynthia. {Talking at random?^ Oh — yes — I suppose so. I— I haven't thought much about it. John. \_Changes his tone.'] Well, sit down ; do. Till he comes — talk it over. [i% places the armchair more com- fortably for her.'] This is a more comfortable chair ! Cynthia. {Shamefacedly.] You never liked me to sit in that one ! John. Oh, well — it's different now. [Cynthia crosses and sits dowTt R. , near the upset chair. Lojig pause. John crosses^] You don't mind if I smoke ? Cynthia. {Shakes her head.] No. John. {Business with pipe. Sits on arm of chair right of table L.] Of course, if you find my presence painful, I'll — skiddoo. {He indicates i.. QY-tiTYiiK shakes her head. JOHN smokes pipe and remains seated. 162 THE NEW YORK IDEA Cynthia. {Suddenly and quickly :\ It's just simply a fact, Kars- lake, and that's all there is to it— if a woman has once been married— that is, the first man she marries— then- she may quarrel, she may hate him — she may despise him — but she'll always be jealous of him with other women. Always ! [John takes this as if he were simply glad to have the information. John. Oh Hm ! ah — yes — yes. \_A pause. Cynthia. You probably felt jealous of Phillimore. John. {Reasonably, sweetly, and in doubt.'] N-o ! I felt simply : Let him take his medicine. {Apologetically. Cynthia. Oh! John. I beg your pardon — I meant Cynthia. You meant what you said ! John. {Cojnes a step to her.] Mrs. Karslake, I apolo- gize I won't do it again. But it's too late for you to be out alone— Philip will be here in a moment— and of course, then Cynthia. It isn't what you ^o)/— it's— it's— it's everything. It's the entire situation. Suppose by any chance I don't marry Phillimore ! And suppose I were seen at two or THE NEW YORK IDEA 163 three in the morning leaving my former husband's house ! It's all wrong. I have no business to be here! I'm going ! You're perfectly horrid to me, you know — and — the whole place — it's so famihar, and so — so associated with — with John. Discord and misery— I know Cynthia. Not at all with discord and misery ! With harmony and happiness — with — with first love, and infinite hope — and — and — Jack Karslake, — if you don't set that chair on its legs, I think I'll explode. [John crosses rapidly, sets chair ofi its legs. Change of tone. John. \While setting chair on its legs, R.] There! I beg your pardon. Cynthia. [Nervously.'] I believe I hear Philip. \_Rises. John. [Goes up to window^ N-o ! That's the policeman try- ing the front door! And now, see here, Mrs. Karslake, — you're only here for a short minute, because you can't help yourself, but I want you to understand that I'm not trying to be disagreeable — I don't want to revive all the old unhappy Cynthia. Very well, if you don't — give me my hat. [John does so.~\ And my sewing I And my gloves, please ! \_She indi- cates the several articles which lie on the small table.] Thanks! [Cynthia throws the lot into the fireplace, \.., and returns to the place she has left near table.] There ! I feel better ! And now — all I ask is 164 THE NEW YORK IDEA John. \_Laughs.'\ My stars, what a pleasure it is! Cynthia. What is ? John. Seeing you in a whirlwind ! Cynthia. [ Wounded by his seetnitig itidifference ^ Oh ! John. No, but I mean, a real pleasure ! Why not? Time's passed since you and I were together — and — eh Cynthia. And you've forgotten what a vile temper I had ! John. {Reflectively r\^ W^ell, you did kick the stuffing out of the matrimonal buggy Cynthia. {Pointedly but with good tejuper.^ It wasn't a buggy ; it was a break cart {She stands back of the ann- chair.l It's all very well to blame me ! But when you married me, I'd never had a bit in my mouth ! John. Well, I guess I had a pretty hard hand. Do you re- member the time you threw both your slippers out of the window ? Cynthia. Yes, and do you remember the time you took my fan from me by force ? John. After you slapped my face with it ! THE NEW YORK IDEA 165 Cynthia. Oh, oh ! I hardly touched your face ! And do you remember the day you held my wrists ? John. You were going to bite me ! Cynthia. Jack ! I never ! I showed my teeth at you ! And I said I would bite you ! John. Cynthia, I never knew you to break your word ! \_He laughs. Casually. '\ And anyhow — they were awfully pretty teeth ! [Cynthia, though bolt upright, has ceased to seem pained.~\ And I say — do you remember, Cyn [^Leajis over the armchair to talk to her. Cynthia. {After a pause. '\ You oughtn't to call me " Cyn " — it's not nice of you. It's sort of cruel. I'm not — Cyn to you now. John. Awfully sorry ; didn't mean to be beastly, Cyn. [Cyn- thia turns quickly. John stamps his footP^ Cynthia ! Sorry. I'll make it a commandment : thou shalt not Cyn!! [Cynthia laughs and wipes her eyes. Cynthia. How can you, Jack? How can you ? John. Well, hang it, my dear child, I — I'm sorry, but you know I always got foolish with you. Your laugh'd make a horse laugh. Why, don't you remember that morning in the park before breakfast — when you laughed so hard your horse ran away with you ! 166 THE NEW YORK IDEA Cynthia. I do, I do! [^Both laugh. The door opens, R. NoGAM enters.'^ But what was it started me laughing ? \_Laughs. Sits. Laughs again.'] That morning. Wasn't it some- body we met? [^Laughs.] Wasn't it a man on a horse? \Laughs. John. {Laughing too.] Of course ! You didn't know him in those days ! But I did ! And he looked a sight in the saddle ! [Nog AM, tryi?ig to catch their attention, comes down R. corner, right of table R. Cynthia. Who was it ? John. Phillimore ! Cynthia. He's no laughing matter now. \Sees NoGAM R.] Jack, he's here ! John. Eh ? Oh, Nogam ? NOGAM. Mr. Phillimore, sir John. In the house ? Nogam. On the street in a hansom, sir — and he requests Mrs. Karslake John. That'll do, Nogam. {Exit Nogam, r. Pause. John frojn near the window. Cynthia faces audience.] Well, Cynthia ? {He speaks almost gravely and with finality. THE NEW YORK IDEA 167 Cynthia. [Trefubling.'] Well? John. It's the hour of decision ; are you going to marry him ? [Pause.'] Speak up ! Cynthia. Jack,— I— I John. There he is — you can join him. [^He points to the street. Cynthia. Join Phillimore— and go home— with him— to his house, and Miss Heneage and John. The door's open. '^ \He points to the door. Cynthia. No, no ! It's mean of you to suggest it ! John. You won't marry Cynthia. Phillimore — no ; never. {^Rims to window^ No ; never, never, Jack. John. \Goes up. He calls out ofzvindow, having opetted z/.] It's all right, Judge. You needn't wait. \_Pause. John cojnes down. Tableau. John bursts into laughter. Cynthia looks dazed. He closes door. . Cynthia. Jack! \^OYi^ laughs^ Yes, but I'm here, Jack. 168 THE NEW YORK IDEA John. Why not? Cynthia. You'll have to take me round to the Holland House ! John. Of course, I will ! But, I say, Cynthia, there's no hurry. Cynthia. Why, I — I — can't stay here. John, No, of course you can't stay here. But you can have a bite, though. [Cynthia shakes her head. John places the small chair which was upset, next to table R. Armchair above R. c] Oh, I insist. Just look at yourself — you're as pale as a sheet and — here, here. Sit right down. I insist ! By George, you must do it ! [Cynthia crosses to chair beside table R., left of it, and sits. Cynthia. \Faintly^ I ain hungry. John. Just wait a moment. [John exits l., upper door, leaving it open. Cynthia. I don't want more than a nibble ! {Pause ^^ I am sorry to give you so much trouble. John. No trouble at all. {He can be heard off L. , busied with glasses and a tray7\ A hansom of course, to take you round to your hotel? \Speaks as he comes down R. TEE NEW YORK IDEA 169 Cynthia. \_To herself. 'l I wonder how I ever dreamed I could marry that man. John. \Ahove table by this tzme.^ Can't imagine ! There ! Cynthia. I am hungry. Don't forget the hansom. [_She eats; he waits on her, setting this atid that before her. John. \(joes to doorR., up ; opens it and speaks off^ Nogam, a hansom at once. Nogam. \^Off stage.] Yes, sir. John. \_Back to above table ; from here on he shows his feelings for her.] How does it go ? Cynthia. [^Faintly.] It goes all right. Thanks ! \_Hardly eating at all. John. You always used to like anchovy. [Cynthia nods and eats.] Claret? \fiY^TYi\\ shakes her head.] Oh, but you must ! Cynthia. \_7re7nulotcsly.] Ever so little. \^He fills her glass and then his.] Thanks ! [He pours out a glass for himself. John. Here's to old times! \_Raisiftg glass. 170 THE NEW YORK IDEA Cynthia. [Very tremulous.'] Please not ! John. Well, here's to your next husband. • Cynthia. [Very tenderly^ Don't ! John. Oh, well, then, what shall the toast be? Cynthia. I'll tell you — [pause] you can drink to the relation I am to you ! John. [Laughing^ Well — what relation are you ? Cynthia. I'm your first wife once removed ! John. [Laughs: drinks.] I say, you're feeling better. Cynthia. Lots. John. [Reminiscent.] It's a good deal like those morn- ings after the races — isn't it ? Cynthia. [Nods^ Yes. Is that the hansom ? [Halfrises. John. [Going up to the window.] No. Cynthia. [Sits again.] What is that sound ? THE NEW YORK IDEA 171 John. Don't you remember ? Cynthia. No. John. That's the rumbling of the early milk wagons. Cynthia. Oh, Jack. John. Do you recognize it now ? Cynthia. Do I ? We used to hear that— just at the hour, didn't we — when we came back from awfully jolly late suppers and things ! John. H'm! Cynthia. It must be fearfully late. I must go. [^Kises, crosses to l. chair, where she has left cloak. She sees that John will not help her and puts it on herself. John. Oh, don't go— why go? Cynthia. {Embarrassed and agitated.'] All good things come to an end, you know. John. They don't need to. 172 THE NEW YORK IDEA Cynthia. Oh, you don't mean that! And, you know, Jack, if I were caught — seen at this hour, leaving this house, you know — it's the most scandalous thing any one ever did my being here at all. [^Crosses to R. c] Good-bye, Jack ! \_Pause ; almost in teats.'] I'd like to say, I — I — 1 — well, I shan't be bitter about you hereafter, and \_Pause.'\ Thank you awfully, old man, for the fodder and all that ! \_Turns to go out R. upper. John. Mrs. Karslake — wait Cynthia. {Stopping to hear:\ Well ? John. \Serious?[ I've rather an ugly bit of news for you. Cynthia. Yes? John. I don't believe you know that I have been testing the validity of the decree of divorce which you procured. Cynthia. Oh, have you.? John. Yes ; you know I felt pretty warmly about it. Cynthia. Well? John. Well, I've been successful. [Pause.} The decree's been declared invalid. Understand ? Cynthia. \_Looks at him a moment; then speaks^ Not — precisely. THE NEW YORK IDEA 173 John. l^Pause.'] I'm awfully sorry — I'm awfully sorry, Cyn- thia, but, you're my wife still. [^Pause. Cynthia. [^IVith rapture. 1 Honor bright ? [She sinks into the armchair. John. \Nods. Half laughingly?^ Crazy country, isn't it? Cynthia. \Nods. Pause.'] Well, Jack — what's to be done ? John. \Genily.'\ "Whatever you say. [Moves C. NOGAM. [Quietly enters door r.] Hansom, sir. [kxits ; Cynthia rises. John. Why don't you finish your supper? [Cynthia hesitates. Cynthia. The — the — hansom John. Why go to the Holland? After all — you know, Cyn, you're at home here. Cynthia. No, Jack, I'm not — I'm not at home here — unless — unless John. Out with it ! 174 THE NEW YORK IDEA Cynthia. {^Bursting into iears.'\ Unless I— unless I'm at home in your heart, Jack ! John. What do you think ? Cynthia. I don't believe you want me to stay. John. Don't you? Cynthia. No, no, you hate me still. You never can forgive me. I know you can't. For I can never forgive myself. Never, Jack, never, never ! \_She sobs and he takes her m his arms. John. \yery tenderly^ Cyn ! I love you! \Strongly7\ And you've got to stay ! And hereafter you can chuck chairs around till all's blue ! Not a word now. \_He draws her gently to a chair. Cynthia. [ Wiping her tears.'] Oh, Jack ! Jack ! John. I'm as hungry as a shark. We'll nibble together. Cynthia. Well, all I can say is, I feel that of all the improprie- ties I ever committed this — this John. This takes the claret, eh ? Oh, Lord, how happy I am ! THE NEW YORK IDEA 175 Cynthia. Now don't say that ! You'll make me cry more. [She wipes her eyes. John takes out wedding ring from his pocket ; he lifts a wine glass, drops the ring into it and offers her the glass. John. Cynthia ! Cynthia. {Looking at it and wipi7ig her eyes.J What is it ? John. • Benedictine ! Cynthia. Why, you know I never take it. John. Take this one for my sake. Cynthia. That's not benedictine. [With gentle ctiriosity.'] What is it? John. [He slides the ring out of the glass and puts his arm about Cynthia. He slips the ring on to her finger and, as he kisses her hand, says.'\ Your wedding ring ! CURTAIN LBJa'20 a. W. Ptteto'0 Pa?0 lancet 50 Centj^ J IVU lriivi4 II females. Costumes, picturesque ; scenery, va- ried. Plays a full evening. r A Mil IF I^i'o^Q' in Fi^G Acts. Nine males, five females. Cos- VAiilIL<&rl4 tumes, modern ; scenery, varied. Plays a full evening. INIiAIVlAV ^^y *^ ^^^® Acts. 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